Were It Not For Bad Dreams
by PrevalentMasters
Summary: The war has been over for more than a century. Thinking he was alone, he cleared his heart out. But now they have all returned. The stage is set for the second act, and he must dig deep inside of himself to bring back the person he was before.
1. Prologue

**The fact that DGM is on hiatus for the millionth time finally forced me to write down this thing that's been gathering dust in my brain for a while. **

**The war has been over for more than a century. Everyone is gone, except for him. He still walks the earth, gathering the trivial histories of mankind. But he has learned his lesson. He has cleared his heart out, and now he exists for the one reason that he should have existed for all this time: to be an impartial observer to the vast stage of humanity.**

**OCs and OOCness. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I am a mere mortal, borrowing from the genius of others. Of course I don't own DGM.**

ONE:

In a dusty, hot brick of a building, two men sat at a table. Their eyes were fixed on an old-fashioned TV, broadcasting a static-wrought picture of a man standing at a podium, the American flag behind him. In a tinny, faraway voice, the man was saying, "Tonight, August 31, 2011, I'd like to talk to you all about the end of our combat mission in Iraq, ongoing security challenges we will face, and the need to rebuild a nation…"

The man onscreen continued to talk, but the remainder of his speech seemed to not concern the two men at the table.

"You realize what this means," said one man. He was dressed in military uniform and had a sharp American accent.

"Of course I do," retorted the other man. He was dressed in traditional Arabian Muslim dress, a dishdashah and gutrah, and, though he spoke good English, his accent was distinct. "The war may be over for him, but it's just begun for us. It'll be all out battle in this very spot in a few days."

"We'll have to plan," sighed the other man. "Only an idiot would think that it ends here."

A slight shifting in the shadows of a corner gave away the presence of another man. He was startlingly young, in his early 20s at the very most, and had a flaming shock of red hair and pale skin that put him drastically out of place in this land of dark eyes and hair. He had one green eye that gleamed intelligently as it stared at the television. The other was hidden by a dusty eye patch.

He stepped forward into the light and addressed the two men.

"I'll be leaving now. My work here is done."

The Iraqi inclined his head. "Thank you for your services, Arthur. Good luck to you."

"And you." The redhead pulled his orange scarf up to cover his head and stepped out of the building and into the dusty heat of the day.

The two men continued to talk and plan as the TV droned on, buzzing in fits and starts as it brought in the news from America. "…the western states are being torn apart in an environmental, religious and political battle as 2012 presidential candidates race for approval in suddenly disrupted voting blocs….unexplained disappearances and murders plague a wide area in the Mountain West….Hurricane Irene heads toward the Gulf Coast….heat wave sits dormant over much of the Mid-Atlantic region…."

With a blip, the TV transmission cut off, leaving a screen of buzzing static. The two men didn't notice.

The red haired man walked into the desert, scarf ends waving an empty goodbye in the hot wind, his mind intent upon his next destination.


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

The newspaper headlines. Every day, more of them. They persisted, piling up in her head until she could think of nothing but the words and the gruesome pictures that were printed alongside them. They filled her thoughts daily, the mutilated bodies, the unexplainable circumstances.

It was as though there was a war being waged just below the surface of reality. She itched to understand. She wanted to stop just sitting around watching all of it happen and _do_ something. What, she didn't know. The entire world felt wrong, off-balance. She didn't understand.

And when it wasn't the deaths or disappearances, it was the presidential campaign. God, she was sick of it. The suddenly bipartisan Western States were drawing the attention of the candidates, and now they wouldn't leave it alone. There was a political ad poster on every block, and flyers stuck to every streetlight.

There was something odd about all that, too. Something about the ferocity of the competition, the odd, almost _secretive_ air that surrounded the campaigns, and the candidates themselves, something that sent chills down her spine. But _what_? What was it that was so odd? She was frustrated, jumpy. More than anything else, she wanted answers.

* * *

><p>He had arrived. He wasn't quite sure how. His brain had learned to block anything that wasn't a necessity. He had received instructions and directions, and he had followed them, from there to here. His name was Sean now. Alias number 78.<p>

In front of him was a large brick building. Kids lounged on the front steps, and an American flag waved on a pole in front. It didn't look like anything worth recording. But oh, it was. His eyes took in every detail of the building: the façade, the dirty windows, the trash that littered the lawn. He noted the faces of the people out front. And he noticed the two billboards, one on the north side and one on the south. Both with smiling faces and American flags, both promising the impossible.

_He'd done that once. Promise what he could never fulfill. He wouldn't make that mistake again._

The face on one of the billboards looked eerily familiar. But then again, he knew many people. He was a Bookman, after all.

He shook off any unease and walked through the front doors.

* * *

><p>She was late. Again. She ran into the school, skidding past the perpetual losers by the front doors, and ran down the main hallway, cursing traffic. Normally, she wouldn't have been so bugged at the thought of being late, but she had a test first period…a massive, potentially disastrous test that she had to be there for.<p>

She reached the stairs and prepared to leap up them, but the crackling of the intercom stopped her in her tracks.

"Cassia Marston, please come to the office. Cassia Marston."

Why would she be called to the office? She racked her brains for things she could have done wrong. True, she had sluffed a few times…well, more than a few times, but it wasn't as though anyone cared about that.

Shuffling feet behind her and an arm casually thrown around her neck accompanied the overpowering smell of coffee.

"Sam," she said.

"Me!" he said back, bright as ever. "I heard the announcements! Are you in trouble? Why would you be in trouble?" He pulled her along, back the way she had come, to the main office. "Woah…look. He has RED HAIR. RED. Like a LION." Sam was pointing in the office, at an uncomfortable looking red headed teen standing by the desk.

"Lions aren't red, Sam," she sighed. "Are you high?"

"Not high! Just caffeinated! Three cups of espresso already!" He held up three fingers, rather unnecessarily, then started laughing hysterically.

She blushed under the bemused stare of the red haired kid.

"Gotta go!" Sam shouted, then dashed off.

The red haired kid was still staring.

"Sorry about him," she said. "He's…uh, like that. He drinks lots of coffee."

Becky, the front office secretary, leaned around the guy as she heard Cassia's voice.

"Cassia! There you are!" She turned to the guy. "This is her."

"What?" asked Cassia. She was sounding really intelligent today.

"This is Sean. He's new here. He has a lot of the same classes you do, so you'll be showing him around today, till he's got an idea of the system. That okay with you?"

"Yeah," she said. "That's fine, I guess." She turned to him. "Nice to meet you."

He smiled. "Nice to meet you, too."

* * *

><p>Her smile was like <em>the other girl's<em> smile. She reminded him of her.

And the boy that had run up, smelling of coffee and smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong, he was like _him_. The wild hair, the coffee cup, the glint in his eye.

The memories were breaking through the barriers. He couldn't allow them to do that. He had to keep his head. He was here for a reason, and when that reason was fulfilled, he would leave. He had to remain disconnected.

He _would _remain disconnected.

_Her smile…._

* * *

><p>They sat on the billboard platform, the girl and the man, in front of the massive smiling face of "Mark Evanston, 2012!" They were both slim, almost doll-like in their perfect beauty. They had skin like ash and dark, dark hair. The girl sat on the edge, seemingly unaware of the 30-foot drop to the ground below, swinging her legs and humming quietly to herself. The man lounged back against the billboard itself, eyes hidden by curls of dark hair, smoking a cigarette.<p>

They had watched the red-haired man enter the building, and, minutes later, a brown-haired girl run in after him. And, though they couldn't have heard the conversation in the office, they seemed to know what had transpired regardless.

The girl giggled, high and ecstatic. The man smiled, took a slow draw from his cigarette, and exhaled.

"The final pawns step onto the chessboard," she said. "Now let the games begin."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, do you like it? Do you hate it? Should I jump off of a building so that the vile creator of this horrific piece of crap is dead forever and can never do anything so horrific again? The only way I'll know is if you review.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned DGM, I would not be writing stories about it on fanfiction.**


	3. Chapter 3

"So," said the girl named Cassia. "This is math. Just so you know, Mr. Campbell doesn't give a shit what you do in this class. He teaches, sort of, but if you have homework or anything else you want to do, this is the place to do it. It's basically just like a study period."

He nodded wordlessly, too tired to speak. Only halfway through the day, and he was completely exhausted. He'd done harder things than school, but there was something about the manic energy of a building full of thousands of kids that was more tiring to him even than war. And there was this wrongness about it all. He didn't understand what it was, and a part of him didn't want to. Still, he had been sent here for a reason, and he knew he'd find out why soon enough.

Cassia was nice, though. She reminded him of—

_No. Don't think it._

They walked into the classroom and were immediately confronted by another girl. She ran up to Cassia and started talking so fast that he couldn't understand every other word she said.

"So you know how Kam and I were trolling around Saturday night? And we came over to your house for like five minutes and then we left to find Kam's boyfriend but you wouldn't come with us cause you hate him? Well, he came with us, and at, like, two in the morning he was driving and he was totally drunk—I mean, really _smashed_—on that, you know, homemade alcohol he makes out of grape juice in his closet or whatever, and he _ran Piece of Shit into a pole._ And now Piece of Shit's front bumper is completely smashed in and it's even more of a piece of shit, and my dad totally flipped out when he saw it. I mean, can you believe it? I told David he had to pay for it to be repaired, but he wont. I don't get why she dates that dickwad. Hey, who's this?" Her eyes flicked over to him, but he didn't answer her. He was still shell-shocked by the amount of words that had come out of her mouth in such a short amount of time.

"Moral of this story," said Cassia to the girl. "Never let the guy who distills his own liquor in his basement to drive your car when you're trolling in the early hours of the morning. And this is Sean. He's new here. He's shadowing me, sort of. Sean, meet Frida."

"Like Frida Kahlo?" That was honestly the only thing he could think of to say.

"Yeah. My parents really like Mexican art and artists. My brother's name is Rivera. You know, like Diego?"

"Sorta sounds like a girl's name."

"Yeah," said Cassia. "It fits, cause he acts like a total girl."

"She was dating him for a few months last year," said Frida. "Didn't end too well. Can't say I didn't warn her."

He almost told them that he'd met them, Frida and Diego, in New York in 1931. When he was Eddie, a young Arts critic for the _New York Times_. But he kept his mouth shut and took a seat behind Cassia as the class began.

The teacher was an old guy with long graying hair tied back in a ponytail. He didn't have shoes on, and he was eating spoonfuls of cottage cheese out of a giant container throughout the entire lesson. No one acted as though this was out of the ordinary. In fact, no one really paid any attention to the teacher at all. Almost immediately after he started talking, people pulled out food and iPods, cell phones and textbooks, laptops and novels, and commenced doing every conceivable thing _except_ for math.

He himself tuned out also (he'd learned all of these math methods several times already), and turned his attention to his classmates. Frida was talking with a boy about an English assignment. Cassia had earbuds in and was nodding her head to the music as she balanced chemistry equations. A boy in the back had stretched out full length on the floor and was sleeping with his head on his backpack.

Unbeknownst to them, he was watching, calculating. Storing their faces and their every move away in the impassive files of his mind. They didn't know it, but he was searching, analyzing each and every one of them, looking for the reason he was in their midst.

* * *

><p>"So," said the man. "How do you plan on starting it? How are you going to lure him in?"<p>

The boy with shaggy black hair and dark skin spoke. "A party."

The man sighed. "A _party_. You think that'll work?"

"Sure," said the boy. "I've got the girl's friends' trust. They'll persuade her, and she'll invite him. It'll work out beautifully."

"And once you've got them near?"

"We'll get him. Play with him a little, just to let them know we're back."

"You can't kill him, not yet. It's too early in the game."

"_Play_. I said we'll _play _with him."

"Just don't play too rough. We only need to get their attention, so they'll make a move."

"Yes."

The man stretched, groaning. "I just hope they act soon. I want it all out in the open. I'm tired of playing Mr. Nice Guy for America."

A girl's voice giggled out of the darkness in a corner of the room.

"They'll take the bait. And then they'll be back! They'll all be back for Rhode to play with!" Her eyes glittered with mirth as she spun out of the corner to throw herself into the man's lap.

"Oh what fun it'll be!"

* * *

><p><strong>Good? Bad? Are you interested in what's gonna happen?<strong>

**REVIEW!**

**I really don't own DGM. I promise.**


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't want to go to a party," she told Frida.

"Come on, Cassia. You _never_ want to go to parties. It'll be fun!"

"You know I hate David. And I'd've thought that after he crashed Piece of Shit, you wouldn't be too wild about partying with him."

"Isaac'll be there."

"I've told you a thousand times. I'm _not attracted to_ _Isaac._"

Jenna walked up, trailing Sam. "Are you guys talking about David's party? Are you actually gonna go, Cassia?"

"She's being resistant," abruptly, Frida turned to Sean. "New guy! Do you want to go to the party?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know anyone."

Cassia rolled her eyes. "God, you guys. Push much? David is an asshole, I hate parties, and all I want to do tonight is go home and sleep. Aren't those enough reasons to not go to the party?"

"You're being selfish, Cassia," Jenna chided. "This new guy doesn't know anyone, and the party would be a great place for him to make some new friends. But only if we're there. Because he has to go with _someone_ he knows, or else it'll be awkward."

"To be fair," Sean said, "I don't really know you guys either."

"Bullcrap!" shouted Frida, throwing her arm around Sean's shoulders. "We're like, best friends already! Right?"

"Uh…"

"Dude," said Sam, finally seeming to register Sean's presence. "You're the guy with the hair!"

Sean sighed. "And you're the guy with the coffee."

"Yeah! Dude! He remembers me! DUDE! It's lunch hour! Let's go get more coffee!"

In wordless agreement, the group began to move in the direction of the front doors. Cassia fell back to walk beside Sean. "They're all going to the coffee shop down the street. We can go with them, or we can just go to the cafeteria here if you'd rather."

"I'm fine with the coffee shop."

They walked in silence for a few moments. Cassia felt uncomfortable. She loved her friends, but they were all a bit crazy and hard to handle, especially on a first day in a new place. Their energy, insistence, and total disregard for customs, rules and laws were hard to digest.

"Sorry about all of them," she finally said. "They're kinda hard to handle at first. Especially Sam. I swear to God, that boy is proving that caffeine is as dangerous of a drug to teenage health as meth."

He laughed a little. "It's okay. They're all nice. It's sort of refreshing, to meet people who are that open. And Sam's fine. I knew someone a lot like him once."

A tinge of sadness had crept into his voice. She looked at him close, and noticed a peculiar look in his single eye, but it was gone almost as soon as she noticed it.

"So…do you move around a lot or something?"

He sighed. "Yeah. I'm never in one place for too long. It's…complicated."

She didn't want to press him. After all, she knew complicated. "I get that."

Silence.

"So…if you don't mind me asking, what's with the eye patch? Is it, like, there for a reason, or is it some sort of fashion statement?"

He stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Fashion statement? God, I _wish_ it was a fashion statement! No, it's because of my eye. I'd rather not go into detail. But, I've gotta ask, do a lot of people wear eye patches as fashion statements here?"

She laughed too. "No, not really. But you see things, you know? Some people come to school in cosplay every day. There's a guy here who dresses like the Doctor…you know, from _Doctor Who_? He even has a messenger bag that looks like a TARDIS. There's this hipster chick who wears saris and Doc Martins every day, and she's not even Indian. And you should see what some of the Goths wear! I mean, it just wouldn't be that unusual if you were wearing it for fun."

He considered that for a moment. "That's weird. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, I've seen a lot. But…still." He regarded her for a moment. "You're a lot like him, you know. You're a lot like Allen."

"Who?"

But as she looked at him, his face turned from open and happy to cold and completely stony. It was like he had pushed all his emotions away, like he'd gone completely empty. It was eerie to watch, and she felt a sudden pang of sorrow for him, though she didn't know exactly why. Moments later, the curiously empty look was gone, replaced with a false-looking smile.

"So. Coffee?"

"Right, " she said, still wondering what exactly was going on in his head. "Coffee."

* * *

><p>The Frida girl was staring at him.<p>

"So Cassia has dance next," she said. "You can't be taking _dance_. So what's your next class?"

His mind was still whirling over the slip-up earlier. _He'd said his name. His _name_. What had he been thinking? How could he have let it happen?_

_A pool of blood, a limp hand falling from his wrist, a small, sad smile._

_No._

He swiveled his hips slightly, taking care not to spill his overly full coffee cup.

"Maybe I am taking dance. Why, would that surprise you?"

So he was back to being the joker, the nice guy, frivolous and friendly. Just as he had been _then._

She laughed. "Okay, dude. So you're a great dancer. But seriously."

He stopped swiveling his hips.

"AP Geography."

"Dude! That's my class! Sweet! Thank God you're in it now, it was full of total losers. Finally, someone else cool's in it!"

"I'm not that cool."

She laughed again. "No, you're not. But next to the people in that class…well, you'll see what I mean."

And he had to admit that he did, even though he didn't generally judge right away. The class was full of slackers sleeping in the back and way too eager kids sitting up in the front. Frida looked completely out of place in the group.

As soon as the first bell rang, the teacher yelled from her corner, "Current Events, guys! Get going!"

"Oh, damn," Frida whispered. "It's Current Event Friday. Most boring day _ever_. Get ready to fall asleep quick." She winked, then laid her head on her desk. Sounds of even breathing ensued almost immediately.

Soon enough, he could see why. Kid after kid stood up, droned for three minutes about a newspaper article, then sat down again. Soon it was Frida's turn.

"So my article was about all the political stuff that's going on right now, because there's _nothing else in the newspaper, ever._ Anyway, it was mostly about Mark Evanston, who's the frontrunner in the polls around the West right now. It's really weird, cause he's running as a Democrat, and he's totally dominating Republican strongholds like Utah and Idaho and Wyoming. What's even _weirder_ is that he's the CEO and creator of this major multi-billion dollar computer company. And I'm not trying to generalize here, but guys like that usually run as Republicans. Anyway, most of you have probably heard of the company. Most of you probably own computers developed by them. N.O.A.H."

Most of the room nodded at the words.

"Yup. Pretty big powerhouse, in direct competition with Apple. N.O.A.H.'s gonna take over the world!" She fake-swooned dramatically, then stood up straight. "That's it, I guess."

The class applauded dully, and she sat back down, grimacing at him.

The teacher stood up. "Frida's brought up a very good point there. Mark Evanston is a political surprise, and an utter powerhouse." She walked over to the board and pointed to the front page of _The New York Times_, which was tacked up. A massive photo of a man's smiling face dominated the display.

The teacher continued to talk, but he stopped hearing her.

_That face. _The face of that man, or god, or whatever he could be called. The face that had once looked into his eyes and laughed as he'd been crushed and tortured. The face that had spat at his feet as he cried, begging for it to end.

The man…the man that had killed _him_, and so many others. The man that he had comforted himself in thinking dead.

_White hair, turned red by blood._

_Stretching fingers._

"_Is it over, Lavi?"_

He bolted from his chair and practically ran out of the room, shouting back to the teacher, "Sorry! Feel ill suddenly!"

He didn't stop till he reached the bathroom, till his hands and knees were resting on dirty blue tile and his head was suspended over a toilet.

The tile was cold, cutting through his pants and freezing his hands. Much colder than it should have been…not tile at all…

…_he was chained to a stone wall. It radiated cold, freezing him down to the bone, the effects only highlighted by the cold, heavy chains wrapping around his appendages._

_Everything he saw was through a shade of red. Leering faces, laughing him. And one. _That _one._

"_Bookman still refuses to speak on the topic of the 14th."_

_An angry blow crashed across his cheek._

"_So we'll have to punish you again."_

"_I told you already," he croaked. "He doesn't care. He won't speak to save me."_

"_Perhaps if he witnesses your punishment firsthand…"_

_Then, pain. And through that, the laughs of the man. And through that, the angry cries of another, a voice that he knew well. Sorrowful, yet still refusing to speak. For that, he was grateful. He didn't want to be the cause of the betrayal of his…dare he say it?...friends._

"_Where is the 14th?" asked the man. " What is his history? What are his weaknesses? Do you know where Allen Walker is? Tell us, Bookman! Where is he?"_

_And then, suddenly, it stopped, all of it, and light filtered through the darkness. He managed to open his eyes a crack and saw in the doorway three figures, the one in front emanating such brightness that he winced and had to turn away._

"_The 14th's so close, " said a new voice. "But I'm afraid he's not in right now. Just me. Sorry to disappoint."_

_His lips formed the word, though he was unable to speak it out loud—"Moyashi"._

_Another voice in his ear, female, whispering something comforting. And then, the pain was gone, and he was warm. And he slept._

_But he dreamt of the man's eyes. He would never forget the eyes, laughing derisively as they destroyed him. He couldn't forget them, even after they were gone. Even after they were dead. Even after he stopped caring about anything and everything. Even after they became nothing more than ink marks on a page._

_He couldn't forget those eyes._

* * *

><p><strong>Please please please review! I'm really unsure of this chapter…it's kinda drabbleish and fillery. I promise stuff'll happen in the next chapter. But what I want to ask is: are the flashbacks working? Are they giving an adequate sense of his inner turmoil, and what happened to him and everyone else without giving away <strong>_**too **_**much? Please tell me what you think!**

**Also, the last flashback is, of course, the whole "Lavi and Bookman got captured by the Noah and Lavi's being tortured by Sheryl (or whatever that guy's name is)" thing. Remember that? Yeah, I know. Feels like ancient history. I had to write something about it, considering that particular plot point has been MIA in the manga for, like, AN ENTIRE YEAR. RAAAGGEEE.**

**Also, sorry for any stupid mistakes. Está muy tarde.**

**Thanks for reading and the nice reviews! Hope you like!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Sean?"

He was lying on a cold floor.

"Sean! Hey, can you hear me?"

He was cold…and every bone in his body hurt. Where was he? Who was Sean?

No. No no no no no. _He_ was Sean. He was not the _other one_. He was _Sean_. And he wasn't rotting away in a dark cell. He was a hundred years older and in a school. Yes. A school. And those people—those people no longer existed.

"_Sean!_"

He opened his eyes.

Blue eyes stared into his, dark and clear. For a moment, he doubted his realization, thinking that he was still caught in the dreams, because those eyes, they were so like the eyes of…

_When he'd found him, he was already gone, blue eyes open and vacant. He'd not even had the chance to say goodbye._

But no. It was Sam, the coffee addict, crouching over him with a concerned expression.

"Dude! You okay? You look weird, man. Like you were dreaming or something."

He heaved himself up off the floor, groaning as pain lanced through his head. He leaned it against the wall, letting the cool, albeit dirty, tile sooth the pain. "I'm fine," he said, rubbing his face with his hand. "I get…epileptic fits. Mild ones." _Epileptic fits? Where the hell had that come from?_

Sam seemed unfazed. "Dude. Hardcore. Want some drugs?"

"_What?"_

" No, not those kind of drugs. Ibuprofen. You look like you've got a headache."

"Oh…oh, yeah. That would actually be fantastic."

He swallowed two pills dry and leaned back against the wall, waiting for them to take effect. Sam plopped down beside him, and he cracked his eye open to look at him.

"Don't wanna go back to class," Sam explained. "Even the bathroom's better than Econ."

He nodded, then asked, "I know it's sort of a weird question, but what do you know about Mark Evanston?"

Sam sighed. "Not much. I know a lot about N.O.A.H. I've got a N.O.A.H. computer. But about Mark Evanston himself…well, I'm not a very politic-y sort of person. I know he's sort of a dark horse, and that everyone thinks he'll win the election 'cause he's totally blowing the other guy out of the water in polls and stuff. Personally…well, he kinda creeps me out. I don't like smooth-talking deal makers, and if Mark Evanston is anything at all, he's that."

He nodded, then muttered to himself, "Mark Evanston. M.E."

"What?"

"Nothing." He stood. "I should go back to class. My bag's in there and everything."

The other boy nodded. "Okay. I'll walk you there. Just to make sure you don't pass out again."

"I'm not going to pass out again." He wished he could believe in those words.

Sam laughed, holding the door open for him. "I don't actually give a shit about _you_, dude. I just don't want to go back to class."

When they reached the classroom, Sam asked, "so are you going to David's party tonight?"

"I dunno. I still feel like it'd be awkward."

"No it wouldn't. You should go, dude."

"Yeah…maybe. If Cassia's going, I might."

"What," Sam chuckled. "You already have the hots for her?"

"What?" He felt his cheeks redden despite himself. "No!" _No emotions. No connections_.

"Whatever, man. You'd be good for her. After that mess with Rivera last year…well, just don't write her off quite yet. Hope to see you at the party, Lion Man."

"Lion Man?"

"Yeah! It's your new nickname! Cause you remind me of a lion. Or something. Whatever. Bye!" He walked off.

The wizened face of his mentor loomed in front of him.

"_Your 49th name will be Lavi."_

"_Lion?"_

"_Yes. The Hebrew, I believe. You'll have to have the courage of a lion while we're there, Junior. That name will remind you of it."_

"_Right. This sounds like it'll be fun."_

"_Perhaps, Junior. Perhaps. But remember: no emotions. No feelings. Absolutely no connections. These people you will meet—they will not be your comrades. They will be nothing but stains on the page to you. Got it?"_

"_Of course they will be. No one is ever anything else to me."_

"_Good."_

* * *

><p>"Cassia's going to the party," Frida informed him as they walked out of school. "Which means you have to go too."<p>

"How'd you convince her?" he asked, rather impressed.

"Persistence," she replied. "35 texts in one period. She caved at number 23, but I had to be sure she wouldn't change her mind. I'm driving her. Do you want me to pick you up?"

He sighed. It seemed that there was no way to get out of this one. At any rate, he might be able to get more information about this Mark Evanston and N.O.A.H. Just so he could be sure…absolutely sure before he did anything….

"I guess. Thanks." He supplied her with the address of an apartment building he'd spotted a few blocks away from where he was actually staying. He couldn't let anyone know where he lived, or he'd be flayed alive by the higher-ups. He'd walk down and be waiting outside the building when they pulled up.

"Great!" Frida preformed a little jump as she took the slip of paper he handed her. "See you at seven!"

"Right," he replied, then turned to leave.

_Day one. Complete. Nothing special. No one interesting. Nothing that mattered._

* * *

><p>She stood against the wall, clutching a plastic cup full of beer that she had no intention of actually drinking. She had only picked it up because she had wanted something tangible to touch, to feel. The party felt like a dream, like she was suspended from reality. She felt like she was suspended on the edge of something, ready to fall—or maybe jump—off.<p>

She'd lost sight of Frida almost immediately after they had entered the crowded house, as she had left to find Kam and David. Sean had stayed by her side for a while, but had been shuffled off by Jenna to "meet some people". She'd only caught one glimpse of Sam's dark head moving through the mess of people, and it had seemed like too much work to go find him. So now she was alone.

She shifted against the wall and sighed, wishing that she had taken her own car so she wouldn't have to rely on a ride from Frida. She wanted to be at home. Sleeping, preferably. She was so tired, and her left arm felt heavy and aching, even though she couldn't remember bumping it up against anything.

She felt another person sidle up next to her. "Hey, sexy."

She rolled her eyes. "Hello, David."

His breath rolled over her cheek and she resisted the urge to jump away from him as she would a snake.

"You never sound happy to see me, love."

"Maybe that's cause I never am."

"Ouch," he breathed, playing with a lock of her hair. "That hurts, Cassia." He paused. Then, "I don't see why you cut this so short. It was so _sexy_ long. Like a curtain."

"I was tired of hiding behind it. No stop playing with it and find your girlfriend if you want to touch someone's hair."

"I don't want to touch just anyone's hair," he said. "I want to touch _yours_." He suddenly stood directly in front of her, his face inches away. "I heard you brought a friend tonight. I'd like to meet him."

"Well, why don't you go find him and leave me alone?"

"I want you to find him for me. Come on." He pulled at her wrist and forced her away from the wall, dragging her after him.

"Stop it, David! Just leave me alone."

"No."

* * *

><p>He saw them from across the room. Cassia was being pulled along by a boy with dark, spiky hair. A feeling of foreboding thrilled through him at the sight, even though he could see only their backs. He followed.<p>

* * *

><p>"Why the hell are we going outside, David? He's not out there. It's, like, two degrees."<p>

He didn't answer, but his grip on her wrist tightened.

"Let _go!"_ She pulled her wrist out of his grip with tremendous effort and stepped back, holding her arm close to her body. Now it hurt even worse, burning as though it was being subjected to a slow flame.

He turned to her, pointing toward the back door. "He _is_ out there. Look. That's him, isn't it? With the red hair?"

She stared. Why was Sean just _standing_ out there? It was freezing, and dark. She started toward the door, with David following.

"Sean?"

He turned. But his hair was no longer red. Instead, it was long and blond. The face was that of David's brother, Jazz. Eyes heavy with black eyeliner crinkled as he laughed. She turned to face David again, only to find that he was mere inches behind her. He, too, was grinning.

"It's been so long. So long since we've been able to let go." He caressed the side of her face, and she backed up, frightened by the look on his face. "It's nothing personal against you, you understand. It's all to get the ball rolling. "

Her back hit a wall, one that she could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. He brain seemed to have shut down. She knew she should have been screaming or running, but those actions wouldn't come. Her mind seemed to have sunk deeper into the dreamlike qualities that had been haunting her for the past days. And her _arm_. God, her arm hurt. She wanted it all to just be over.

David leaned closer. Their faces were less than an inch apart. "_It's begun_," he breathed. She heard Jazz's laugh from off to her right.

A voice called from in front of her, though she could not tell who spoke. "Hey!"

David turned, allowing her room to breathe, though he still held her against the wall.

And then, one more voice. A breathy laugh as someone seemed to melt out of the shadows of the wall next to her. It was a tall man, a dark silhouette in the moonlit darkness. He stared at the shadow that had just emerged from the house.

"I'd so hoped this would work to bring you to me," he said. "I've missed playing with you so, _Lavi._"

* * *

><p>He was frozen. First, the dark haired-boy, this David. He remembered it so clearly. In that room filled with books, feeling thousands of keys sift through his fingers as he listened to this boy's laugh, destroying his comrades. And then the other one, turning out of the shadows, hair glinting with moonlight. They both looked different, yet they were exactly the same. The sadistic smiles, the eyes with the odd amount of makeup, the ashen skin.<p>

And _him._ Finally, him. The one who he'd fought with on the last day, fought with for hours until finally he'd struck him down. He'd thought that this man had killed him too, and, after seeing everything around him after the battle was over, had hoped he had. Hoped until he woke up in the infirmary two weeks later and had to face everything all over again.

He could see Cassia's shadow, pressed against a wall that hadn't been there moments before. Her eyes were vacant, staring into the darkness, and he knew that she had escaped in her mind, and that she wouldn't be a help to him.

And then…

Then the man called him by the name that had never really left him, and he was gone, his memories swirling around him in a painful hurricane. He found himself on his knees on the cold ground, with the man standing over him.

"No," he whispered. "I don't want to remember."

The man leaned down. "You don't have a choice. You never did. Now, are you going to give me a fight, or will it be as easy as this?"

"As easy as this," he whispered to the ground. "Not supposed to fight anymore."

"What a shame," the man sighed. And then the world was pain, just pain fizzling and flying around him, and all he wanted was for it to end.

* * *

><p>David's attention was back on her. "Tyki's taking care of your friend there. So that leaves you and me to deal with our business." He regarded her thoughtfully. "We have orders not to kill him, but <em>you…<em> well, I don't think you matter that much. Do you?"

He grinned, and slid his hand up her shirt.

The horrific feeling of his clammy hands on her skin finally drove her brain out of the dreams. She wrenched her hand out of her slackened grip and shoved it between them. "Stop."

He looked surprised, then laughed. "You think you can fight me? You're _powerless_."

She galvanized all her strength and shoved him in the chest. Hard. He staggered back, clutching at his t-shirt, which had burn marks on it. "What—"

Her arm and hand didn't hurt anymore. In fact, they felt pretty good.

David's face twisted into something horrible, and he lunged back at her. She grabbed his arm to hold him off.

Glowing strands seemed to wrap around the fingers wrapped around his arm. Thin as wire, they were silver and gold and very delicate looking. But, where they touched his arm, it discolored and burned the skin. He screamed and pulled away from her, staggering in the grass and looking at her with heavily lidded eyes.

"_So,_" he hissed. "We have another player. This wasn't planned for. Not at all."

* * *

><p>His face loomed above him, looking like the face of God from where he lay on the ground. It was laughing. <em>Always laughing<em>.

He coughed, and felt blood slide down his chin.

"You…" he whispered. The man leaned down closer to hear.

"You…why didn't you kill me…Mikk?"

The man laughed again. "I tried. I did, really. But I suppose it's better that I didn't. Because you're the one who's set off the events that are going to start it all over again."

"I wanted to die…"

"I know, I know. You poor bastard. How long has it been? A hundred and twenty years? A hundred and twenty years of wandering around with only the memories of those who could never be your friends to haunt you? I _pity_ you, bookman."

"I don't want your _pity_, you bastard," he snapped.

"You'll have it anyway. I did notice that you never were able to let go. You reacted to your past alias just now, didn't you _Lavi_?"

He groaned. From what seemed like far off, a yell sounded, and the smell of burning floated to his nostrils. He saw a glow from the corner of his eye. The moon? Or something else? The man turned around.

"Ah. Time to go. See you later, eye patch." He aimed one last kick, and pain exploded in his body. Then, mercifully, darkness took over.

* * *

><p>David was gone. So were Jazz and the other man. There was no wall behind her to lean on now, so she slumped to her knees, staring at her arm. <em>Now <em>it hurt. The odd, wiry strands were still streaming out of it, but as she watched, they seemed to retract, weaving together and contorting themselves until they formed a loose, intricate circle around her wrist. Light came out of it, in one bright as lightning pulse, and then it seemed to sink into the skin of her wrist, burning as it went. She screamed, and scratched at it, but it was still there. A single drop of blood fell from her wrist to the grass. Where it touched the earth, a small, skinny looking flower with a blood red blossom sprouted. She yelled again, staring at the flower, and clutched her arm close to her chest, letting her body sink the rest of the way to the ground until she lay in the fetal position, face pressed to the grass, smelling it.

She heard voices, and she knew she should recognize them, and that she should probably answer their questions. But all she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and have no dreams.

So that's what she did.

* * *

><p>Max L. Leverrier was a man who was never rendered speechless. He always knew exactly what he needed to do, regardless of the situation. This was because Max L. Leverrier believed that a knowledge of current events and a strict moral code would prepare anyone for anything. He had both of these things, thus, he was never unprepared, always had an answer, and always knew exactly what to do.<p>

These characteristics made quite a few people hate him a rather lot. But, since he was high up in the Church and had quite a lot of power, those who hated him generally groveled at his feet anyway.

But now…now, he had no answer. This was a much dreaded moment for Max. One he knew would come someday, yet had always irrationally hoped would not. For the first time in his life, he was helpless, and this made him twice as afraid for what was to come.

He and his lackeys stared silently at the screens and monitors with information and pictures flitting across them. News, warnings, and advice from all corners of the globe, most directed at this one man.

"I don't know what to do…" he moaned, putting his head in his hands. The people around him shifted and muttered.

"_The _Inspector_ doesn't know what to do?"_

"_Look—he's speechless."_

"_So the man _is_ human!"_

"_I dunno…maybe someone's impersonating him."_

For a long time, he stared into space as the messages scrolled by, unseen by his vacant eyes. Then, at last, Max. L. Leverrier made a decision.

"My great grandfather left me with an answer to this problem, though he prayed it would never be needed. Now, it is. We will do what must be done."

"Inspector Leverrier—"

"You heard me!" He barked, back in character at last. "And you know what to do! Now, get to it!"

The many people filed silently from his office. One junior inspector whispered to another, "I know it's a plan long in the making, but it just seems to _unnatural_. I don't want to be a part of it."

The other nodded. "I know. But we must…for the good of the church."

Alone at last in his office, Max Leverrier put his head back in his hands. He wished there was another way. He knew that what was about to be done would raise as many problems as it would solve, yet he could see no other alternative.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he muttered to the air. He thought he must be imagining it, but he could almost hear his great grandfather's rusty old voice whisper back,

"We do what must be done."

* * *

><p><strong>(Had to repost because the section breaks were messed up. :P)<strong>

**Ah! At last, something happens!**

**Ugh. Long chapter is long. Sorry.**

**Y u no review?**

**Disclaimer: Don't own DGM. Never will.**


	6. Chapter 6

**So I have to take the ACT tomorrow and instead of studying I decided I was gonna update this. My planning is so good. How 'bout you drop me a review to make me feel better about my sure-to-be-stellar score?**

* * *

><p>She woke slowly, enjoying the feeling of non-remembrance. Part of her wished to stay in the dreams forever, as they were pleasant, pushing away the deep sense of dread that was lodged in her stomach. A part of her knew that she would regret waking up fully, so she put doing so off for as long as she possibly could. Eventually, however, she was forced to surface, eyes blinking open, wary against the sudden influx of dull grey light.<p>

She saw a streak of blond out of the corner of her eye, and then Frida's face was in front of her, uncomfortably close as she scrutinized her.

"Jesus," Cassia mumbled, pushing her away so she could push herself up on her elbows. Gradually, she became fully aware of her surroundings. She was in her room. It was still dark outside, though it was now raining.

Her head ached and her wrist throbbed. She groaned, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"What happened?"

Frida snorted, disbelieving. "Isn't that what _I _should be asking _you?"_

Confused, she shook her head, then buried it between her knees as she tried to sort out the jumbled memories that were mashing around in her head.

There had been David, creeping as usual.

Then outside, where Sean was. But it hadn't been Sean. It had been Jazz, David's brother.

Suspended reality. A dreamscape. And here was where things got really fuzzy. A hard wall against her back, smiling faces floating mockingly around her, glowing strands of light, flowers that grew up from drops of blood. A different world, it had seemed. Had it been real, or had she dreamt it all in some fevered fit? It only made sense that it had been a dream…yet it had seemed so real…

There had been another man there, one who she hadn't known, tall and dark. He was there for something, or someone, called "lavi".

He must have found it, because he had sounded satisfied. But what had it been?

She pushed deeper.

_David's hands creeping up her shirt and her wrist burning with pain and the smell of singed flesh…not her own._

_Behind her own cries and the laughter of the other man and Jazz as he watched the show, there had been another voice._

_Sean's voice?_

_Screaming? Crying? Pleading?_

_Talking to the man almost as if he knew him. As though they had some sort of history…_

Her head shot up from her knees.

"Where's Sean?" she asked. "Goddammit, Frida, what happened?"

Frida sighed and rubbed her own forehead.

"Well…Sam and I were wondering where you'd gone, and we heard noises in the backyard, so we went out. And it was freezing and we couldn't see anything. I don't mean it was just dark. It was like there was a veil thrown over everything. The only things we could sense were sounds—really muted sounds. They sounded like voices. Like your voices, and a few others, but we couldn't tell what any of them were saying.

And then, suddenly, it was like someone lifted the veil and we could see everything again, just like that. Sean was right in front of us, just lying there, completely covered in blood. We tried to get him to respond, but he was unconscious. So Sam called 911 and I went to find you…" She paused, talking a deep breath and looking at Cassia's face for her reaction. It remained impassive, so she continued.

"You were just a few yards away. You looked totally fine, but you wouldn't wake up, either. There was just one thing, a tiny bit of blood on your wrist, but there was no cut, so I thought it must have been from Sean."

"So…where is he?"

"Sean?"

"Yeah."

"…the hospital."

Cassia lay back on her pillow. "Jesus."

Frida nodded. "I know."

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad. Sam's with him there, and last I heard, they said he had serious lacerations all over his body—like _holes_ almost—some broken ribs, a concussion…I don't know what else. The problem is, they can't figure out who to contact about him. He hasn't got a phone, his driver's license doesn't have any info 'cause it's still from the last place he lived, and they can't find him in any records. It's weird. Like he doesn't even exist."

Cassia thought for a moment. "So what are they gonna do about it?"

"I guess they'll just wait till he wakes up, so he can tell them who to call."

"Huh." She thought for a few more moments. "Why didn't they take me too?"

"The paramedic said it was just shock, and that it'd be better for you to just come home. The checked you out there, and he said that if you feel any pain or whatever, you should come in, but that you should be fine. The police want you to make a statement, though, so they can figure out who attacked you guys. That is what happened, right?"

"…You could say that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Abruptly, she pushed herself out of bed, swaying slightly on her feet as her head ached in response to the sudden change of position. "Right," she said, utterly determined. "I want you to take me to the hospital."

'What?"

"I need to talk to Sean. I think he has some answers…."

She started making her way out of her room into the hallway, followed by Frida, who was protesting loudly. "He's not even awake, Cassia! What do you think he'll be able to tell you? He probably doesn't even remember anything more than you do—especially cause he got beat up way worse. He has a concussion! Don't people get amnesia when they have those? Cassia, _come on!"_

Cassia was wrapping a sweater around her shoulders and slipping into her shoes. "You've gotta take me, Frida. I'd drive myself, but I probably shouldn't. And regardless of whether or not he can tell me anything, I want to see him just cause I _care_." Spotting Frida's keys, she threw them to her friend before muttering to herself, "but I'm sure he knows something." Her hand strayed unconsciously to her wrist, and she felt something unfamiliar against her palm. She looked down.

A bracelet, silver and gold twining strands, glittering mischievously in the dim light that bled into the room from the softly glowing porch light.

"Oh _shit_," she breathed, bringing her hand up to her face and tugging at the bracelet experimentally. It didn't budge, not even a little, almost as if it was grafted to the skin. "So that part wasn't a dream…"

"What?" asked Frida, overhearing.

"Nothing," she answered. Another thought hit her. "God, Frida, you didn't tell my mom about this, did you?"

"No. I figured you wouldn't want me to. Actually, I figured that it'd be better for us all if she has no idea what's going on. They wanted me to contact your guardian, but I just called my voicemail and left myself a message to fool them."

"Good," she sighed. "Wouldn't want to complicate things further. And wouldn't want to take her away from her Extremely Important Business." She murmured the last part almost to herself as she walked out the door and into the rain.

* * *

><p><em>Everything was a jumbled mess. He hurt, but only in a very distant way, almost as if there was another him in another world experiencing the pain firsthand, and he was only feeling the aftereffects. Voices and faces flashed through his mind, jumbled and senseless. Tyki, with his butterflies perched on his fingertips, smiling as he pushed holes through his flesh. The smell of wet, dying grass mixed with burning flesh. <em>Lavi. Lavi. Lavi. _A girl's scream, and light—that light, he knew what it was, but he couldn't think, didn't want to think, so instead he slid deeper…_

_He remembered fighting with Tyki on the last day, for hours and hours until they were both exhausted and he was able to get in a lucky shot. He had killed that man. He'd watched him die. And then he'd crawled off and watched three more die until, at last, everything had collapsed into a supernova of light and sound before phasing out with a slight blip, leaving behind a battered and dying white-haired boy surrounded by the wreckage of a thousand lives and dreams._

_He'd watched that one die, too, and felt tears slide from the eyes that should have never held them in the first place._

_And then, he thought he'd died, too, and been happy about it…_

"Look…is he crying?"

"Yeah…well, I'd be crying too if I had those wounds…. I think his head's bleeding again."

"Do you think he's waking up?"

_But no, he'd woken, and it was as though everyone had died all over again, as though he was watching it all end for a second time. All he'd wanted to do was leave, run until everything was gone._

_Yet he'd stayed. Because there was one left still, the one most important to him, and the only one who ever should have mattered in the first place. Bookman. Bookman was still there, as he always had been, not unscathed, but still alive, as enduring and constant as the seasons._

_Until he wasn't. Until the innumerable years of his never-ending Bookman lifespan at long last ran out._

_And then, he was truly alone._

_He became a full Bookman. He noticed, slowly, the changes. An even sharper memory. That didn't help. And the age. The feeling that time had slowed down, that his body was stronger. And dulled emotions. If only he had been a full Bookman when he'd first arrived at the Order. Then there would have been no attachments, no emotions, no caring in the first place. But now…all the dulled emotions in the world could not dull the pain or take away the memories. _

_So he left. On the eve of a new century, he walked through the door of an Order that no longer existed, and he started covering up the memories with new ones. Impartial ones this time._

_But in his dreams, he could see it all again. In a way, the good dreams were worse, because when he woke up he had to face it all over again, that they were dead, that he would never see Allen's smile or hear Lenalee's laugh, or tease Kanda again. At least when he dreamed of their deaths, reality would be no more cruel than his subconscious._

_Always, the dreams. Their laughs. Their voices. Their blood._

_He just wanted to wake up._

* * *

><p>The first thing he noticed when he opened his eyes was a book cover. It was extremely close to his face, resting on the railing of his…wait, was he in a hospital bed? He tried to move his head and pain shot through every part of his body. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck. Or a tour bus. God, what had <em>happened<em>?

A page in the book turned, agonizingly loud in the silence of the hospital room. He blinked a few more times and the title came into focus. _East of Eden_. John Steinbeck.

He'd been in Russia when he'd read it, and he'd had to keep the English text hidden to avoid suspicion.

"I read that when it came out," he mumbled without thinking. His voice sounded garbled in his own ears and he cleared his throat before continuing. "I liked it. It was very…human."

The book lowered by a few inches, revealing Cassia's hazel eyes. They stared at him intently before the book finally lowered the rest of the way and she sat up.

"When it came out?" she asked.

"Yep," he answered, still not fully in his right mind. His eye moved quickly as he noted down the other components of the room.

_White walls. Blue and green fabric. Beeping machines. Annoying. Wish I could turn them off._

Cassia's voice was cautious, almost afraid. "This book came out in 1952. 60 years ago."

"Mmm. Yeah. Oh—wait. I meant I read it…in Ohio. When it was assigned. For my language arts class." He was screwed now, he knew it. She had latched onto his slip-up like a bloodhound, and she wasn't going to stop until she got answers.

"How old are you, Sean?"

He shifted slightly away from her, wincing as his body complained. "18! You know that already!"

"Really?"

God, he was _so_ not in the mood for this. "Really."

"Are you _sure_?"

"Yes! I was held back a grade because I move around so much. I missed some bits. But I swear to God I'm 18."

Cassia pushed herself up from the chair beside his bed and started pacing the small confines of the room. He watched her. Back and forth, back and forth. Almost trancelike.

"I don't believe you," she said.

_Damn, she has a nice ass,_ he thought.

No. _No no no no no._ NO CONNECTIONS. Not even lustful ones. _Focus_.

"Why not?" he managed to get out.

"Because I heard every word of that conversation you had with Mystery Man tonight. Or last night. Whatever. '120 years,' he said. '120 years of wandering around with only the memories of those who could never be your friends to haunt you.' And, unless there was someone else there who I missed, he was talking to you. And you were talking to him like you knew him! Jesus Christ, Sean! I heard _everything_. I was being molested by David, but my ears were working just fine. You said you'd _killed him_. You said you wished he'd killed you!"

He tried to prop himself up slightly on his pillows, but succeeded only in flailing around in his bed pathetically, moaning slightly with the pain.

"What do you want from me?"

Immediately, her face was inches from his, her eyes boring deep into his single one.

"I want answers. I want to know who and what you really are. I want to know why I had wires that could burn people's skin off coming out of my arm last night and why I have a bracelet that won't come off on that same wrist today. I want to know why the voice of the man who you talked to last night sounded exactly like the voice of Mark Evanston's son. I want to know what the hell is going on! And I think you know the answers, Sean…or should I perhaps call you _Lavi_?"

No, no, no. Please, no. "Lavi?"

"He called you by that name. And you answered."

"I…"

Cassia's voice sounded like _her_ voice. Rich and full. Sure of itself, but full of caring.

_Lenalee had been ganged up on by four Noah, and eventually fallen, after defeating two of them. They'd pushed her off the edge, and she'd fallen, fallen…he'd tried to get to her, but he couldn't, not in time, and her brother's scream of anguish still echoed in his ears…._

His eyes had glazed over and he stared unfocused at the tiles on the ceiling. "Sean!" she yelled, annoyed that he was prolonging this, needing answers. "Answer me!"

His eyes remained glazed and he gave no response. She walked closer to him and peered at his face. He seemed to be looking at something, but nothing that existed in this world. As she watched, he flinched and gave a small whimper.

"Sean?" She was cautious now. "Are you okay? Should I call the nurse?"

No answer, just more flinching and a quiet moan. "Please…"

"Sean!" She slapped his cheek gently.

Nothing.

* * *

><p><em>His heart was being town apart. He wasn't supposed to even <em>have _one, but he was a human being. He simply couldn't help himself. He wasn't strong enough. Never had been._

_All of his comrades. All of his _friends_. Dropping like flies in the face of the Earl's power._

_Miranda had held out for as long as she could, holding up the Time Record for far longer than ever before, allowing them all so much extra time. But she'd still been the first to fall._

_Then Timothy, still so young, too inexperienced to hold out. It had only taken one shot from a Level 4 to bring him down._

_Then Noise Marie. The Crow Members that had joined the battle. Krory. Like flies. And he'd been powerless, utterly powerless, to save them._

"Sean!"

_Who was Sean? He wasn't. He'd never been Sean. After the Black Order, he'd only ever been Lavi. He'd buried it deep, tried to lie to himself, but he'd always been Lavi. Always would be. He knew this now._

_He'd seen Yuu at various points in the battle. The last time he saw him, he was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and still fighting like a maniac._

_He'd seen him again, after defeating Tyki, laying on the ground, those ice-blue eyes half-open and completely empty, the tattoo on his chest fading away, bleeding into the ground around where he lay like blood washed away from skin. All of his petals fallen._

_He wondered if it was partly his fault. Early in the battle, Yuu had blocked a shot from a Noah that would have killed Lavi. If it weren't for that, would Yuu have lived?_

_He hadn't even been able to thank him. Hadn't even said goodbye._

"Sean! Wake up! Come on!"

_And Allen…_

_In the silence after the storm, he'd crawled to Allen's side, the two of them the only living things in the area. The white-haired boy had fought, fought for the Order despite the fact that the Order had shunned him, despite the fact that he easily could have gone over to the Noah's side and lived. He and the 14__th__ had fought together, and destroyed the Earl as had always been his goal, and now he was dying. _

"_Is it over, Lavi?" he'd whispered, bloodied hand reaching toward him. "I think it's over…"_

"Sean!"

_And he'd taken the hand in his own stained fingers and whispered, "Yes"…_

* * *

><p>It wasn't working. Nothing was working. She thought back to what the man had called him. "Lavi." Lion. It meant "Lion" in Hebrew, she knew from the religion class she'd been forced into freshman year. Just as Sam had called him. "Lion Man."<p>

"_You reacted to your past alias just now, didn't you, Lavi?" _ The man had said. "_It never really left you…"_

He was twitching now, whimpering, moaning "no" over and over again under his breath.

Well, it was worth a try.

* * *

><p><em>And then he was gone, and he didn't remember anything more, just pain, and his life draining out of him, and blood stained silver hair and a last ghost of a smile.<em>

* * *

><p>She took a deep breath and placed her lips right next to his ear.<p>

* * *

><p><em>He was lost. Gone. He didn't know who he was anymore.<em>

* * *

><p>"Lavi."<p>

* * *

><p><em>His name. Just his name.<em>

* * *

><p>His eyes flew open, and Cassia breathed a sigh of relief, sagging down in her chair, careless of the fact that she was sitting on her book. His eyes flicked to her.<p>

"Cassia."

"Yep."

"You said—"

"Lavi." She smiled. "Yes. Should I call you that now?"

He took a deep breath and a new firmness seemed to take over his face, erasing the odd vestiges of sadness.

"Yes," he answered. "Lavi is my name."

* * *

><p><strong>THANKS FOR REVIEWS!<strong>

**Especially Doctor Yok. Your advice is much appreciated, and I've tried to take it…I hope it's made the story a bit better. **

**In answer to skysight49's question about aging and stuff: I tried to explain a little in this chapter, but I'm planning to get into it more later. I have absolutely no idea what the real deal with the Bookmen are, but I'm twisting things around so they work with my story. In my brain, it isn't that they don't age, it's just that they age REALLY SLOWLY. So, like, 130 years after the events in the manga, Lavi is biologically 22ish. So they age, like, three years for every century? I kinda feel like the Bookmen should be immortal-ish because their sole purpose is to travel around recording history and how the human race evolves. If they had a normal human lifespan, they just wouldn't be able to get very much history down.**

**I'll explain more about this and how it happens later in the story. Sorry if it confused anyone.**

**Sorry for the obscenely long AN. Thanks for reading! And please, review. They make my day!**


	7. Chapter 7

He was sitting on a bench, that much he knew.

And he appeared to be in a city of some sort, though it was nothing like any of the cities he knew. It was noisier, even noisier than London, if that was possible. He seemed to be sitting in a small park of sorts, a green space surrounded by buildings of all shapes and sizes. He thought he recognized a few architectural styles, but most were alien to him.

People were all around, walking and riding in contraptions that vaguely—very vaguely—resembled carriages, though they were much faster and weren't pulled by horses—weren't pulled by anything, in fact. They were what were making most of the noise.

The people around him were odd, too. They were loud, not at all…well, proper. Swearing and shouting floated around him. They were speaking in English, with lazy, broad accents. He must be somewhere in America, then…he remembered that he didn't particularly like America, though he had no idea why.

The oddest thing about the people around him was the fact that those who were obviously female were not wearing long skirts, rather, they wore tight pants, shorts, skirts that showed off quite a bit of skin. Not that he particularly minded…but still. He was sure that they were supposed to be wearing something more modest.

He noticed all of this within moments of realizing himself. All of it ceased to matter when he realized that he only really _knew_ three things.

In the duffle bag next to him were a sword and a hammer. Both were extremely important, but he didn't know why. He felt as though he should have.

He had to go someplace. It seemed like an address. 792 East Ramona Avenue.

He had to find someone and give them the hammer. This was crucial. He had a nagging feeling that the only way he'd figure out anything else was if he did this.

He didn't know his own name. Who he was. Where he'd come from or where he was now.

Music trickled through the air to his ears, and he glanced over to two men sitting under a tree. Both were playing the guitar and one was singing. The one singing had a shock of white hair, very obviously dyed.

A memory zigged through his mind, almost too fast to catch. He bent over as sudden pain lanced through his head.

A face flashed through his mind. White hair. A red scar zig-zagging over one eye. A small smile…it made him feel irrationally irritated. But before that emotion could take over, another face replaced it, a girl. Long black hair, pretty Asian features. Then she was gone and it was a rugged-looking man with closed eyes and odd earpieces. Then an older man with a wild bush of hair and glasses. This face, too, made him flush with momentary irritation.

More and more. They kept coming. No names. No context. No understanding. Just pictures. His stomach clenched with something unfamiliar and he bent over further, groaning. He heard titters off to his right as two girls walked by. He turned his head to growl at them, but then—

—a red haired man with an eye patch and a bright green eye. Something else flitted through his mind, the first context to come with any of the faces. A word. _Usagi_.

Immediately, he knew that this was the man he needed to find.

Then the face was gone, leaving only the word.

_Usagi._

_Usagi._

_Usagi._

He knew that the word was Japanese, and he knew what it meant. "Rabbit". Did that mean he was Japanese? He reached around to finger his hair and found it to be long, tied back in a ponytail. It was very black and very straight. So it was possible he was Japanese then, or some sort of Asian.

It still didn't explain anything, though.

"Fuck," he spat out, grinding his forehead into his fist. He was almost surprised to find that he could speak. The timbre of his own voice was alien to him.

Abruptly, he stood, grimacing uncomfortably. The pants he was wearing were made of an uncomfortable, scratchy, blue fabric. They were baggy in all the places they should have been tight and tight in all the places they should have been baggy. After adjusting to the oddness for a moment, he moved off. In front of him, there was a large, rather odd looking glass building. Normal looking people continually went in and out of the multiple entrances and congregated in the large public square in front of it. He figured it would be a good place to start looking for information, or to at least get directions.

As he walked toward the building, he identified the feeling that was festering in the pit of his stomach. It was fear. The fact that he was feeling it scared him even further. He had the distinct impression that, whoever he really was, he didn't normally feel _fear_. So he pushed it down as far as he could and entered the building walking straight and fast, with an expression on his face that obviously scared passers-by.

He made his way toward a desk, conveniently positioned under a sign marked "Information". He approached, and wrote the address that was floating around his mind on a small scrap of paper. This he shoved in front of the woman sitting behind the desk.

"I'm looking for this address," he said bluntly. "Where is it?"

She looked rather taken-aback by his forwardness, and he wondered if he should have said hello first. He didn't see why he would, though. It wasn't as though he knew her enough to be familiar like that.

"Um…" The woman seemed to pull herself together slightly, eyes roaming over his face. He wondered idly if he was handsome. "Yes…"

She took a sheet of paper from a pile on the desk next to her. A map. Setting it in front of him, she circled a square in the middle of the page labeled "Public Library".

"This is where we are," she said. "792 East Ramona isn't far. You'll just need to go east here, up Fourth Avenue, then turn onto Twelfth East here and go south for about four blocks. Then you'll turn left onto Ramona, you'll see the street signs, and go about another block. I don't know exactly where this'll be, but you'll be able to read the house numbers." She traced the route as she spoke.

"So I'll be able to walk there?"

She nodded once more. "Shouldn't take more than 45 minutes."

Giving her a curt nod of thanks, he grabbed the map and set off.

At least he knew where to go now. Hopefully, he'd find the _Usagi__, _and from there figure out what the hell was going on.

He had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't like it, whatever it was.

* * *

><p><strong>Gee, wonder who this mysterious man could be?<strong>

**Short chapter this time, sorry. And rather filler-y. Or not. Depending on how you look at it. I'm trying to figure out exactly where I'm going with this story, so the chapters'll probably be slightly filler-y for a time. **

**I've been looking at a lot of old fanfics and I realize that this is a really overused concept. Sorry for the unoriginality. I hope I'm making it at least a little bit interesting.**

**Review, please, and tell me what you like or hate! They make my day and can be really helpful to the quality of the story.**


	8. Chapter 8

"You have to get me out of here."

"You're kidding me, right? You've got a concussion, broken ribs and a bunch of, like, _holes_ all over your body. You can't just _leave. _Plus, you still have to explain stuff to me, remember?"

"Yeah, I know. I will, I swear! But I can't stay here."

"Why the hell not?"

" _Because_ I don't fucking have _heath insurance_, not to mention a guardian for them to tell about this mess. I haven't got anything."

"What? Why? Are you an orphan or something? On the run from the foster care system? Would you just _please_ stop stalling and tell me what's going on?"

Lavi signed, rubbing his face with a heavily bandaged hand. "Look. I'll explain everything I possibly can, and then, maybe, you'll understand. I move around a lot, not because my _parents _do, but because _I _do. It's my duty."

"Your _duty_? So, what, you're in the military or something?"

"No…"

"Well?"

"…I'm a Bookman."

Silence. Then—"If I knew what that was, I'm sure I'd be very impressed."

He chuckled slightly. "It's good you don't know. We're supposed to stay out of the way of the world, in a way, just observe what's happening impartially. We're meant to record the history of humanity, and nothing more."

She looked slightly puzzled. "So you're a historian?"

"Yes. And no."

She sighed, sitting back down on the edge of the bed and staring at the dust motes swirling in the morning sunlight.

"So then…how old are you? Really?"

He paused for a moment. Then, so softly that she could hardly hear him, whispered, "One hundred Forty Two."

She was silent. It made him nervous.

"Biologically, I'm only about 24."

"Oh. Well then. That makes it all just fine."

He started rambling to cover his discomfort. "We age about three years or so every century…and it doesn't start until someone becomes a full Bookman—apprentices age normally. I became a full bookman at a really young age compared to most, so that's why I'm still in my twenties. Most bookmen are in their forties when they gain the long life ability."

"What do you do with all that time? You're practically immortal, aren't you?"

"We're very mortal. I mean, we can be killed as easily as the next guy. We just have a long lifespan, if it isn't interrupted. What we _do_—I told you. We record history. Anything and everything. We are the impartial observers of mankind. We've been around since the first monkeys started displaying humanlike qualities." He laughed at the quip. She remained silent.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Well, I mean…what's the point? Of recording everything?"

He was stumped for a moment by her question. At one point, he would have been able to give her an answer with no hesitation. Now, however…he was beginning to wonder if there really _was_ a point to any of it. "I suppose…it's to ensure that people know what happened in the past so they don't make the same mistakes in the future."

"Does it work, though? Do we ever really change?"

The truth was, no. After a hundred and thirty-odd years of Bookman work, the only think he could tell about humans was that they were stupid. "No. It doesn't seem to matter what happened in the past. No human can learn, and the future is just a repeat of the past. Always…" He squeezed his eye shut against the memories threatening to overtake him. He didn't want them to come…he wanted them to stay away…

Cassia's voice broke through the haze of past experiences to his brain. "Still, I suppose the lifespan part isn't a bad deal."

He was instantly alert again. "That's the worst part of all," he spat out, surprising himself with his own anger.

She sat up straight, shocked out of her own thoughts by the tone of his voice.

"Imagine…knowing that a certain event will happen because of something stupid that someone is _about_ to do, and knowing that you can't do anything to stop it because you're nothing but an _impartial_ observer. Watching tens of thousands of people die in an explosion you could have prevented. Working beside people who you respect, and who your human side loves, and knowing you can never call them "friend". Watching those same ones die, and knowing you can't follow them to the peace of where they go…"

The memories were coming, and there was nothing ne could do to stop them. The fields of barbed wire and dead bodies and rutted, ruined ground, still smoldering with the fire of the cannons. The bomb, annihilating an entire city in a nanosecond. The massive, screaming throngs of people, protesting the world. The desperate refugees crowded on dusty roads. The scheming smiles of those in charge, so far away from everything that was really happening.

It hurt. Everything that he had tried to forget was hurting the heart that he wasn't supposed to have.

"Lavi?"

The name jerked him out of his memories better than anything else ever had.

"I've been 78 different people," he said, surprised to find that his voice was choked with unshed tears. "78 different names, all of them for no longer than eight years at a time. I don't know who I am. I never have. I don't know where I'm from, who my parents were, what my name—my _real_ name—is. Those things, the things that you were before you became a bookman; those're the only things you're ever supposed to forget. That's the law. You forget yourself."

His cheeks were wet. He hadn't cried in a century.

"Who is…was…Lavi?"

"Number forty nine." He answered hoarsely. "1892 to 1898. It was one of the longest times I've ever stayed one person."

He didn't want to continue, didn't want to delve deeper into the memories. He had to, though, didn't he, if he ever wanted to heal?

She waited patient, eyes still fixed on the dust motes.

"I was in the Black Order."

Her eyes lit with recognition. "I've heart of that. It was a religious cult in the late 19th century…but no one really thinks they actually existed. Wasn't it just an urban legend?"

He laughed shortly, humorless. "Oh, it existed. I suppose the Vatican tried to cover it up after everything was over, so as not to scare everyone into thinking it would happen again…. And it wasn't really a cult. More like an army. An elite fighting force."

"So what did you do?"

He sighed again, as though he was readying himself for a long explanation.

"We—"

Abruptly, his eye closed and his head fell limply to the side, the very picture of an unconscious invalid. Cassia leapt forward, opening her mouth to call his name, but then the door swung open and a nurse walked in. She dropped back in her chair and grabbed her book hastily, realizing that he was acting in order to avoid explaining things to anyone else.

The nurse gave a kind smile and started fiddling with Lavi's IV. "Still not awake?"

"Nope." Her voice cracked embarrassingly. She was a terrible liar.

The nurse leaned over him and gently pulled an eyelid open. Cassia's heart jumped, thinking he'd be caught, but his eye was blank and glassy, rolled slightly back. He really looked unconscious. Was he? No one could act that well…

The nurse smiled at her reassuringly. "He'll wake up soon. I've given him some more meds so he isn't in too much pain when he does. It's so kind of you to stay with him."

"Yeah," she mumbled as the nurse walked out. Lavi's eye flew open. He tugged at the IV needle, tearing it out of his arm and resulting in a spurt of blood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

He squeezed his eye shut tight, breathing heavily. "Gotta get out of here. Can already feel the effects…" he looked up pleadingly. "Please, Cassia. Trust me. I'll explain everything, about that bracelet on your arm, about the people who attacked us, about the Black Order…but I can't stay here."

"But…you're still hurt! You need medical attention!"

He smiled slightly. "I've had much worse."

She relented finally, seeing the steely spark of resolve in his eye. "Fine. Lemme call Sam. He'll figure out a way to get you out."

He smiled. "Thank you." Then he closed his eye again.

"We can't leave if you fall back asleep," she pointed out.

"Not sleeping…jus' resting. The meds…" he trailed off, and Cassia decided not to rouse him, at least until Sam showed up to help.

* * *

><p>"So we're bouncin'?" asked Sam, standing in the doorway and staring down at Lavi. "Good. Hospital coffee sucks massive dick."<p>

"Yeah. But, Sam, you gotta come up with a plan to get him out. They've got him hooked up to a dozen machines. They'll know the second we try to leave."

"No problem," said Sam, nonchalant as ever. "We gotta get him into a wheelchair. And keep him connected to all this shit. Is he awake?"

"I dunno. Why a wheelchair?"

"We get him in a wheelchair, then disconnect him from all the machines. None of them are controlling anything vital. I think. Then, he and I hide in the bathroom while the hoards come running in, demanding to see if he's dead or not. _You_," he pointed at Cassia, "are going to pretend that you just woke up and he was gone. You'll have to be hysterical. Then they'll kick you out and you can come join us and Frida'll take us back to your place."

"Does Frida know about her role in this little plan?"

He held up his phone. "I just texted her. She'll be here."

She sighed. "Okay…do you _really_ think it'll work?"

"It'll work…" came a faint voice from the bed.

"So you _are_ awake!" Sam said. He darted out into the hall and returned a moment later with a wheelchair. "It was just sitting there. I'm sure it'll be fine." He pointed at Lavi. "You. In the chair."

"Dude," Lavi groaned. "I can't…fucking…move."

'They gave him more meds," Cassia explained. "I feel like this is a really bad idea. I can't play hysterical."

"You're getting a pretty good start on it right now," Sam pointed out.

"_I am _not_ hysterical!_"

"Just keep it up," he said, helping Lavi up and manhandling him into the wheelchair, being careful of the wires and tubes connected to him. Judging from Lavi's grunts of pain, Sam wasn't being as careful with Lavi himself.

"Okay, Cassia. Help me disconnect all this crap."

Together, they moved to remove the medical equipment, tugging and pulling at all of it rather carelessly. She hoped they weren't harming him more. They probably were.

The blood pressure cuff fell to the bed and the wire that had been monitoring his heart rate fell to the floor. Immediately, all the machines in the room began beeping urgently.

"Go!" Cassia hissed, mussing up her hair and dropping _East of Eden_ to the floor in order to make it look as if she had just woke up. Sam hurriedly pushed Lavi into the tiny bathroom in the corner of the room, that door closing just as the room's door flew open.

"What's going on?" a doctor demanded. "Where is he?"

"I…" she tried to look hysterical. She didn't know what hysterical _looked _like. Her efforts to look hysterical were making her feel rather hysterical. More people bustled into the room, all looking at her. She saw the bathroom door crack open and Sam's blue eyes peak out. She had to keep them distracted, keep their eyes on her. "I…I guess I just got tired and drifted off…the next think I knew, everything was beeping and he was gone!"

The doctor looked at her critically. The bathroom door opened further. _More hysteria_.

"Oh, God!" she cried. "I'm sorry! It's probably my fault somehow! I'm sooo sorry!" Her voice increased in pitch as she saw Sam, who had pulled on a filched pair of scrubs over his jeans, push Lavi, now wearing a sweatshirt with a hood up, quietly into the hall. "_I'm sooorrry!_"

"Alright, miss. Calm down. No need to get hysterical. He can't have gone far."

_I hope he has;_ was her fervent wish. But they couldn't go looking yet…she had to stall them for a bit longer.

"No! It _is_ my fault! He probably had amnesia from the concussion and got scared when he saw me 'cause he didn't remember who I was! Oh, God, _I_ caused him to run away! What if he gets lost? What if he _dies_? It's all my faaauuuullllt!"

"_Please_ miss! Calm down! You," he snapped to a nurse, "search the halls. He's young. Red hair. In bad shape. Frankly, I don't see how he managed to get out of that bed."

Cassia felt as though it was time to get herself out of the situation. She dissolved into very loud and very fake tears, rocking back and forth on the floor. A nurse knelt down next to her.

"Miss, I think we'll have to ask you to leave the room. You can wait in the waiting area until we find him—which I'm sure we will. Don't worry. Now come along."

The nurse led her out of the room to a largely deserted waiting area down the hall. The minute she left, Cassia stopped with the fake tears and called Frida.

"Where are you?"

"Out in front, by the main entrance. Sam and Sean just got here. Where are you?"

"In a waiting room. I'll be down as soon as I can."

"Hurry. And, by the way, this plan was completely insane. I can't believe you pulled it off. Whose idea was it?"

"Sam's, of course. Oh, and his name's Lavi."

"Whose? Sam's? What?"

"Sean's. Just call him that, okay? It'll make him feel better. I'll be down in a sec."

She ran.

* * *

><p>"You look like hell. This was a really bad idea."<p>

They were stuck in downtown lunch hour traffic. They had been sitting in a traffic jam in front of the library for fifteen minutes. It looked like there was a car accident at the light on the next block, but she couldn't tell for sure.

"'m fine," Lavi muttered, head resting drowsily against the window of the car. It wasn't true. There was blood soaking through one of the bandages on his arm.

"Where should I go?" asked Frida, attempting unsuccessfully to merge into the next lane.

"Dunno," groaned Lavi. "Can't tell you…where I live..."

"What?"

"Let's just go to my place," Cassia said. "He shouldn't be alone, anyway. Not in his condition."

"So your parents'll just be find with a random beat up stranger showing up and staying at your house?" he asked.

She smiled grimly. "They won't know."

There was something going on with her parents, Lavi thought. Dead, maybe? Or just not around? Had he been in peak form, he would have been able to tell what it was easily. As he was, he couldn't, and it frustrated him.

"Okay," he sighed. "But I don't want to make anything difficult for you."

"You won't."

Abruptly, Lavi seemed to perk up, sitting up as straight as possible and pressing his hand to the window as he stared out at the people going in and out of the library. His lips moved slightly…it looked like he was mouthing…"you"?

"Lavi? What is it?"

He seemed to deflate slightly, shaking his head and slumping back in his seat. "Thought I saw someone I know…used to know."

Silence for a few moments. Then, Sam lunged for the radio and turned the dial all the way up. The car shook with the sound of music.

"Lion man!" He shouted. "It's your song!"

_Weep for yourself, my man,_

_You'll never be what is in your heart_

_Weep Little Lion Man,_

_You're not as brave as you were at the start_

_Rate yourself and rake yourself,_

_Take all the courage you have left_

_Wasted on fixing all the problems _

_That you made in your own head_

Lavi lifted his head slightly. "Sad…"

"Yes," agreed Cassia. "But also beautiful."

_Tremble for yourself, my man,_

_You know that you have seen this all before_

_Tremble Little Lion Man,_

_You'll never settle any of your scores_

_Your grace is wasted in your face,_

_Your boldness stands alone among the wreck_

_Now learn from your mother or else spend your days biting your own neck_

"And triumphant, in a way," said Sam. "He's saying he's sorry, that he messed up, but that he learned something, and that he'll keep trying."

_But it was not your fault but mine_

_And it was your heart on the line_

_I really fucked it up this time,_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

"He's hoping he'll be better someday."

"Maybe it is a song for me, then."

"You hope to be better?" asked Cassia.

"Don't we all?"

_But it was not your fault but mine,_

_And it was your heart on the line_

_I really fucked it up this time,_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

_Oh, didn't I, my dear._

He was tired again, his head lolling against the cold window, hurting where it touched, his body heavy and sore.

_But it was not your fault but mine,_

_And it was your heart on the line…_

The voices in the background faded, leaving only the song, telling him…

_I really fucked it up this time,_

_Didn't I, my dear?_

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the memories.

And then, he slept.

* * *

><p>He woke as they bumped into a driveway. Gravel crunched under the wheels of the car, assaulting his ears. Behind the crunching were voices, muttering quietly.<p>

"Is that someone on the porch?"

"Yeah…is it a girl?"

"Can't tell…who is it, Frida?"

"How should _I_ know?"

"Well, you know a lot of weird people…"

"Hey!"

He opened his eyes. It took a moment for the world to come into focus. There was, indeed, someone on the porch, standing rather stiffly against the railing. The person's back was to the car, but he could see hair. Long, dark hair tied in a ponytail…with twin long strands hanging free….

He sat up straight, fumbling for the door handle, ignoring Cassia's alarmed voice and briefly forgetting the state his body was in as he stumbled from the car. He made it about two steps before pain lanced throughout his entire body and his knees buckled beneath him. The person turned as he hit the ground, and Lavi could see his face…

"Yuu…" he whispered. Had the person he'd seen outside the library really been…?

There were footsteps in the gravel behind him, and Cassia's voice in his ear, but he couldn't understand what she was saying. His brain was filled with white noise as he stared at _that man's_ face, the face that he had last seen still and empty, covered in blood, _dead_.

"Lavi? Are you crying?" Cassia's voice again. He could not answer her, because _he_ was stepping off the porch, walking towards him…he was going insane…he must be…Yuu couldn't be _here_, walking towards him…alive…it was someone else…someone who only _looked_ like him….

"You're the one I was supposed to find."

He didn't understand. Couldn't. Couldn't think.

"Now—do you have the answers?" There was something in his eyes distinctly un-Yuu like—almost lost.

"I…" he wet his lips. He couldn't form a thought. "Yuu? Is it…is it you?"

"Who're you talking about?" asked Cassia.

The man looked puzzled. "Who?"

"You…Yuu…Kanda?"

"I don't know. You have to tell me."

Lavi slumped down farther, his head aching. Cassia was saying something about blood. "What?"

The man's brow furrowed slightly. "Are you…Usagi?"

_Baka Usagi!_

_The last time Yuu had said that to him was during the final battle, when he'd saved him from the akuma bullet. It would have hit him in the heart, and he wouldn't have had time to save himself. Yuu stepped in front of him at the last second, taking the bullet in his shoulder and spattering blood all over Lavi's face. He'd destroyed the akuma with one swipe of his blade, then turned back to him and spat "baka usagi!" in his face before running off to continue the battle elsewhere._

_Didn't even have a chance to say thank you...no chance to ever say goodbye…_

"Lavi! Why are you crying?" Still Cassia's voice.

"Lavi…_Lavi_…fuck. _FUCK. _Why can't I fucking remember?" Yuu's now.

Too much. He didn't want to think, could not begin to comprehend what was happening. So he let the pain in his head sweep him away on a dark tide and feel back into the oblivion with a smile of relief on his face.

* * *

><p>Cassia watched Lavi pass out again and stared at the tears glittering on his cheeks. Then she looked up at the man standing in front of her. He was rather odd looking, oriental, with long hair, so dark it shone blue where the sunlight hit it. She thought of Lavi's face when first saw this man…were they connected somehow?<p>

"Who are you?"

"I've just _said_, baka. I don't fucking _know_. I think he's supposed to tell me."

"Yeah, well, he's supposed to tell a lot of people a lot of things." She was annoyed now. Sam approached and pulled on Lavi's arm until it was around his neck. "Help me here, Cassia."

Lugging him like a sack of potatoes, they made their way inside, with Frida following behind. The man stayed where he was until Cassia came back out.

"If you want answers from him…well, so do I. But he's...damaged. I don't know if you'll get them."

He looked…desperate. "I need to talk to him."

"Well, you'll have to wait till he wakes up again…we just did a jailbreak from the hospital, so he's really not in good shape." She sighed, shuffling her feet in the brown grass. She really didn't want another stranger in her house, but there seemed to be nothing for it.

"You'd better come in."

* * *

><p><strong>AAAANNNNND long chapter is long and boring. Sorry! After next chapter, all the boring explanations will be over with and maybe we'll actually get somewhere with this story.<strong>

**Before this ends, though, six things:**

**1. Sorry about the ridiculous "getting out of the hospital" scenario. I know it wouldn't actually work, but I honestly couldn't think of anything else. T_T**

**2. The song is "Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons, which I had to put in here somewhere because it's like the most perfect song for Lavi ever. Also, it's fantastic. Go listen to it now. **

**3. The guy with the white hair in the last chapter? Yeah, that wasn't even remotely supposed to be Allen. As "TheDanaDobreAKAToshiroLover" pointed out, that would have been WAY TOO OBVIOUS. The only purpose that guy served was as a vehicle of remembrance.**

**4. Originally, I wasn't planning on doing any pairings in this fic. But there's been a couple mentions of that in the reviews, and when I think about it, a fic without any love is slightly boring. If you guys want pairings, tell me what they are. I'm good with just about anything, except for total crack parings like…Kanda and Timcanpy, for example. (LOL WUT)**

**5. It may come as a surprise to you, but I STILL DON'T OWN DGM. Weird, huh?**

**6. Thanks for the kind reviews! They always make my day. So now, review more. Or I'll cry.**


	9. Chapter 9

The silence was heavy and uncomfortable, even to Cassia, who was usually fine with not talking. This man's silence was different, almost menacing. They stood in the entryway, not speaking, not moving. The man was staring straight ahead, at a framed piece of modern art that was Cassia's mom's favorite and that Cassia herself couldn't understand for the life of her.

"Do you like it?"

"No," he said shortly.

"Right…well…want some tea?" She immediately regretted asking as he directed his gaze toward her. The dark, never-ending pools of his eyes seemed to take her and drown her…

"What're you staring at?" His voice was so _angry_.

"You're eyes are like bottomless pits." If he wasn't going to be polite to her, then why should she be polite to him? "So do you want tea or not?"

He considered it for a moment. "What kind?"

"I dunno. I'll have to see what we've got."

"If you've got green…I think I like green tea."

She nodded and gestured for him to follow as she headed to the kitchen. Finding that they did indeed have green tea bags, she stuck a cup full of water in the microwave, too lazy to actually boil a kettleful. Turning back to the man, she caught a different sort of look on his face—one of disbelief as he stared at the various gleaming gadgets in the kitchen.

"This is a kitchen?" he asked.

"Uh…yeah?"

The man made a muffled sort of noise under his breath. "_Che_. Doesn't look anything like one."

"Doesn't it?" She was starting to seriously wonder what was going on with this guy. He looked like a girl, he didn't know who or where he was, but he did seem to know who Lavi was, and he was insistent about the fact that he needed to talk to the guy. And he was holding that duffle bag to his chest like it was his firstborn child.

The microwave beeped loudly, seemingly startling the dark haired man. She moved over to it and withdrew the mug, silently dipping a teabag in the steaming water and setting it in front of him. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the microwave.

"The fuck is that?"

"…A microwave."

He made the noise again. "_Che."_

"Would you stop doing that?"

"No."

"You seriously don't know what that is?"

He was suddenly mere inches from her face. "No, you fucking _baka_. I told you that twice already. Now tell me what the fuck it is or I swear I'll slice you up."

"Cool your tits, dude!" Frida yelled happily as she walked into the kitchen. "I want some tea! Why didn't you offer me any, Cassia?"

"You can make it yourself." She was trying to think. He had recognized Lavi, and Lavi had recognized him. Lavi had been alive for over a century and a half. What if this guy was…

"Shit," she said. "In all seriousness, dude, do you _seriously_ not recognize anything here? Anything in the city?"

"Some buildings…maybe? The architecture."

"What're you on about, Cassia?" asked Frida.

"I don't know. I don't even want to know…" she looked back at the man. He wasn't drinking the tea, just staring into the depths of the liquid, the steam clouding his features. "I'll be right back." She walked out of the kitchen and directly into Sam.

"I gotta go home, Cassia. My mom's flipping a bitch. But tell me how this…works out."

"Okay. Uh…thanks for all your help. I appreciate it. Sorry for dragging you into all this shit."

He shrugged. "Whatever. It's making my life more interesting. I need that."

She laughed slightly at his determined optimism. "See you Monday."

"Bye." She stared at the door after it closed, still lost in her thoughts. She didn't really want it to be true…because that would just be too creepy. Too wrong. But, judging from the last two days, "right" was no longer a factor in what happened to her.

She walked into the living room, where they'd dumped Lavi on the couch after he'd passed out. To her surprise, his eyes were open and he was staring at the lines of bookshelves along the walls. She walked to stand beside him. His eyes flicked up to her and he gave a small smile before returning his attention to the books.

"You've got a lot of them."

"Yeah. My dad was a book collector."

His eyes were back on her. "Where is he? Your dad, I mean?"

She hesitated, hating to talk about it. "He's…dead."

To her eternal thanks, he didn't press the subject. Instead, he pointed to a particular weathered spine. "That's a nice copy. But it looks like it's been through hell."

She laughed. "_Hamlet_. It was his favorite. He took it everywhere with him…always used to quote it."

"It's my favorite Shakespeare, too." He held a hand to his chest as he orated, "O God, I could be bounded in nutshell and count myself king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams."

"You do, don't you?" she asked softly.

He turned his head away from her. "All the time. Remembering all the things that shouldn't matter, but do."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Cassia trying to pretend that she didn't notice the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.

"He wants to see you," she said at last, still whispering. "He doesn't know who he is…he seems to think you do."

"So he was real?" Lavi whispered. "Not another dream? I dream about him a lot."

"Not unless I'm dreaming too. You _do _know him, don't you?"

It took him a moment, but at last he nodded. "Yuu. Yuu Kanda. He was an exorcist with the Black Order when I was. He was one of my…friends."

"And the last you saw him?"

He covered his eye with a hand. "Dead. November 2, 1897."

She let out a long breath, her insane suspicions confirmed. "I was afraid of that."

"You guessed?"

"He didn't recognize a microwave…"

Lavi snorted slightly. "I guess I'd better talk to him." He heaved himself to a sitting position, wincing as he did so. "Ow. Fuck."

"I'll tell him you're awake. Do you want anything? Like, food or water or something?"

He cleared his throat. "Water would be nice. Or tea, or something. My throat hurts."

She left the room, walking back into the kitchen. Frida was now sitting across from the man—Kanda—drinking her own cup of tea and chattering away idly. Kanda appeared to be paying no attention, still staring into his full cup.

"Um," she said, interrupting Frida's ranting on the topic of biology. "He's awake, if you want to go talk to him."

He jumped up from the counter, his stool clattering to the floor in his haste, and pushed past her roughly, still clutching the duffle to his chest. Sighing, she picked up his still-full mug and followed, stopping in the doorway.

He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at Lavi with the oddest expression on his face. His arms dangled limply by his sides, the bag lying on the floor at his feet.

"Hello, Yuu," said Lavi, softly and sadly.

"I don't know who the hell you're talking about, _baka_."

Lavi was uncharacteristically silent, staring into his lap.

"You…" the dark haired man was suddenly uncertain, no longer angry. "You…are the Usagi?"

"That's what you used to call me," replied Lavi.

"When?"

"When we were both exorcists…do you remember?"

"No…no…I…fuck. _Damn it!_ You…red hair…rabbit…annoying, stupid rabbit. But I _can't remember_." He leapt forward abruptly, shaking Lavi roughly by the shoulders. "Make me remember! I know you can! You're the one…" he started to trail off, stepping back and covering his eyes with his hands. "You're the one in my head…"

"Yuu…" Lavi looked heartbroken. "I can't if you can't…just…don't you remember _anything_? Lenalee, how beautiful she was? Komui and his damn robots? Cross? Tiedoll? Miranda? _Anyone_? Allen, Yuu. Moyashi. You've _got_ to remember the Moyashi…you hated him so damn much."

The dark haired man was still staring at him, his eyes boring holes into Lavi's soul. "Who were you, though?"

* * *

><p>"Who were you?" How could someone even begin to answer a question like that? There was too much, too much to explain, too much to remember. But…this was Yuu. A Yuu who didn't remember who he was, or who Lavi was. A Yuu with a blank, empty, confused look in his eyes that was so <em>wrong<em>, so utterly out of character. He had to try, didn't he?

"I'm…Lavi. The Bookman's apprentice. I…you hated me, too, always ran around chasing me with that fucking sword of yours trying to cut me up when I pissed you off. You hated it when I called you "Yuu". Even more when I called you "Yuu-chan". God, that really got you going. You used to call me "Baka Usagi". Idiot rabbit. Because I reminded you of a hyperactive rabbit, always hopping around and never shutting up. I…" he paused, a look of pain crossing his face. "You always acted as though you hated me, and I was never really allowed to care about you, but, well…I think we were friends."

Kanda's brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed in concentration. "I…you…a sword. And white. Always white. I remember…I was alone, holding…_him_…oh, God, _him_. Fuck. Dammit…and there were…lotus blossoms? Why were there lotus blossoms? Fuck. I remember…" his knees buckled and he landed on the floor next to the duffle, but he kept speaking. "You were in a basement? Hurt…. But I wasn't the only one there…there were others. And a bullet. I got _hurt_ for you." He looked up, and the utter consternation in his eyes almost made Lavi laugh. "Why'd I do that?"

Lavi suddenly felt very light hearted. "Like I said, Yuu! We're friends!"

The other man glared and Lavi wilted slightly. "I remembered why I don't like you calling me that, too."

Cassia stepped quietly into the room, carrying the cup of tea. She'd been standing silently in the doorway the entire time, and he didn't mind. If she overheard some of this explanation, it might save him some later ones. She still looked pretty confused, but she didn't say anything. She crossed over to him and held out the tea, retreating to the end of the couch after she'd done this.

"Wait," said Kanda, still on the ground. "I have something…I'm supposed to give to you." He opened the duffle bag and began rooting around in it. Lovingly, he pulled out a massive sword, razor sharp and glinting. "Mugen," he whispered almost reverently. "I remember you."

From the depths of the bag he drew out something else, something small and toy-like, striped. He held it out to Lavi, gripped between his thumb and forefinger.

"Yours…right?"

Oh, God. It was. He had no idea how it was possible, no idea how the thing was still intact after he'd seen it—felt it—shatter into a million pieces as he destroyed Tyki. But there it was, held in the fingers of another who he'd thought gone forever. He could sense the innocence, almost _smell_ it, and his fingers twitched as he hesitantly reached for it. "My hammer…" he breathed. "Tessei."

His fingers stopped mere centimeters away from his old weapon, doubts creeping into his mind. What if he was no longer an accommodator? What if he killed himself, or rendered his bookman powers obsolete? If he touched this hammer again…did that mean he was back in it all? Was he willing to get involved again? Was he willing to care, and have his heart broken one more time?

The aura of his innocence filled his mind, tantalizing him and drowning him like some drug. He closed his eyes and moaned, "Oh, God," before his fingers acted on their own and darted forward.

His hand touched the innocence. He felt the power flow through him, judging him, just as it had the first time, but this time he felt no fear. Only an overwhelming need to have it back, to mend the would that the loss of it had left gaping 120 years ago.

"Please," he said. He wasn't sure if he was speaking out loud or just to the presence inside of him. "Please, take me back. I'll try my hardest to be worthy of you this time."

There was a moment of absolute silence and stillness, both inside him and outside of him.

Then—

His world exploded.

* * *

><p>She watched as he gripped the tiny hammer in his fingers. His eyes were closed and he seemed to glow with an ethereal light. His lips moved, but she couldn't tell what he was saying.<p>

Suddenly, light seemed to pour out of both the hammer and him, and he sat up straight, shaking with some sort of seizure, head thrown back and mouth open wide in a silent scream. She jumped forward, hands outstretched to help him, but another hand restrained her. She looked back to see Kanda, still on floor, staring at Lavi.

"Don't interfere," he said shortly. "This has to happen."

"But," she tried to protest. He just shook his head. So she retrained herself and stepped back.

The hammer in his hands seemed to be disintegrating, crumbling into a thousand tiny pieces of light that were incasing his right arm. He screamed out, and this time he was audible, very audible. He was screaming a word, over and over again—"_Please. Please. Please."_

"What…" she was horrified by the sight before her. "What _is_ that?"

"Innocence," he grunted. "He must have lost his, somehow. And now he's asking for it to come back to him."

"Is it…working?" she asked, still staring at him. "He looks like he's in pain…"

"It hurts," the other man said simply. "But that's the price you pay."

Lavi arched back, now screaming wordlessly. The material that had incased his arm had sunk into the arm itself, causing it to glow with an unearthly light. Abruptly, his arm jerked up towards the ceiling and his screams ceased. He seemed to be kneeling almost in silent supplication to an unknown deity, begging for something with all of his heart and soul.

And then, blood. Pouring from his arm, morphing into a thousand different shapes in rapid succession until at last it rested on the original one: a small hammer, now colored red and rather transparent. Whatever power gripping him seemed to let him go, and he slumped back onto the couch, clutching the hammer in completely bloodless fingers.

"It's back…" he whispered. "Thank you…" He smiled, almost blissfully, and looking down she saw that the other man had allowed a tiny upturn of his lips on the right side as well.

Okay. That was it. She needed to know what the _fuck_ was going on with these people.

Pulling her wrist free from Kanda's now loose grasp, she strode up to Lavi until she was about an inch from his face. "I don't suppose that this unremovable bracelet that has adhered itself to my wrist and that appears to shoot out glowing wires that can burn people's clothes off has anything in common with that lovely little hammer thing of yours, does it?"

He winced at her sudden proximity. "I would say that there's a pretty good chance that the two are…intimately related."

"Good," she said, drawing back ever so slightly. "Now we're getting somewhere."

He hesitated, and she immediately drew closer. "Elaborate, please."

"Well," he winced, drawing the hammer closer to his chest. "It's called Innocence. It's sort of an otherworldly…weapon, I guess. Some call it a gift from God, if you believe in that sort of thing. We use it to…well, fight evil, I guess. That sounds really cheesy. But seriously, that's basically it. The substance of innocence directly combats the substance of dark matter, which is put into use by the Noah Clan and their creations."

"Noah…" her brow furrowed. "Like, Noah and the ark?"

"Yeah. Essentially. There were thirteen original Noah. They were chosen by God, but they turned against him. The Innocence was the first to combat the Noah, and there was a three day battle that eventually culminated in the Great Flood. By default, the leader of the Noah Clan, named Adam, became the 'father of the world'. Everyone alive today is his descendant."

"I thought Adam was the first man. Noah was the name of the man who was chosen by God to survive the Flood. And the Flood was caused by God's wrath against humanity, not a battle. There's never any mention of a holy weapon like this…Innocence in the Bible, or in any other holy texts that I know of."

He smiled wryly. "Don't put all your trust in what the Bible says."

"But…you said that the Black Order was part of the church itself. How can they cover up something like this? The entire damn Bible needs to be rewritten!"

"It's simpler this way. People don't want to be told different from what they think they've always known. They want to believe that Noah was good and that the Flood was caused by God. They don't want to be told of another factor. I mean, Jesus. Think what telling all the Christians and Muslims and Jews the 'true story' would do to the state of religion. The entire bloody world would fall apart."

She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "So…those guys at the party. Were they…"

He nodded. "Noah. To be specific, David and Jasdero, the Noahs of Bonds, and Tyki Mikk, the Noah of Pleasure."

"I always knew that David was deep-down evil," she muttered, almost to herself. "Wait. So this bracelet thing. It burned David. Does that seriously mean…"

He nodded. "It's Innocence. I could tell almost immediately. You're an accommodator. An exorcist."

She sat still for a moment, trying to figure out how the hell she was going to get out of this one. "So say I really—I mean _really_—don't want to be an exorcist. Like, I'm sure it's a fulfilling job or whatever, but I don't have time to be vanquishing evil. I mean, I really need to focus on school and stuff. It's time to start thinking about college! All that, you know?"

"Che," said Kanda from behind her. She whirled as she heard the annoying sound, but he didn't seem fazed by her glare. "It's not as though you have a choice. You're stuck, just like we all were…are."

She whirled back around to stare at Lavi, an odd sort of desperation clawing at her chest. He just smiled at her, rather sadly. "He's right. It's not something that just goes away. Once it's chosen you, you're sorta stuck with it. I'm sorry. I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

She sat down hard on the couch by her feet, head cradled in her hands. She really did not want to deal with this. She wanted everything to go back to normal, for Lavi to go back where he came from, for David to disappear of the face of the earth, for Rivera to revert back to his pre-asshole days, for her mother to get her damn head out of whatever clouds they were stuck in, and for her father to come back. Just for things to go back to normal, that was all she wanted.

Kanda's voice floated through her thoughts. "Now that we've cleared up that shit with her, why the fuck am I back here, Usagi? I was dead, wasn't I? I remember dying."

"You died," Lavi's voice was hoarse. "I saw you. Everyone died, Yuu. They're all gone. The Earl, too, and the Noah! Goddammit, Yuu, _they were all gone, too. We killed them_. But something's wrong now."

"No shit something's wrong. And don't fucking _call_ me that."

"You're back because they're back."

A short, heavy silence. "What?"

"You heard me, Yuu. They're back. The Noah. I saw the Earl's goddamn face on the cover of a newspaper yesterday. He's running for president."

"What?"

"President, Yuu. Of the United States. Arguably the most important position in world politics."

"Che. And the Noah themselves?"

"…I think they're running a computer company."

"Don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Wait," said Cassia, lifting her head from her hands. "You can't be serious. You're talking about N.O.A.H?"

Lavi regarded her. "That's exactly what I'm talking about."

She laughed. "That's insane. They're a _computer company_. Just like, you know, Apple. Or Windows. Don't read more into this than there is."

"I'm not, Cassia. There's seriously something _off_ about N.O.A.H. I've been noticing it for a while, but I haven't made the connection till now. Maybe I just didn't want to. Look…do you own a N.O.A.H. computer?"

"Right here!" said a voice from the doorway. All three of them jumped and turned to see Frida hovering in the doorway, a laptop in her hands.

"What the fuck," said Kanda.

"Have you been listening this entire time?" asked Cassia, rather tiredly.

"Couldn't really help it. That's some insane shit, guys. Anyway…I thought you'd want to see this." She set the laptop down in Cassia's lap and pointed at the article displayed on the screen. It was on one of those current event blogs that Frida trolled all the time for her various social studies classes. The article was about…about…

_**MARK EVANTSTON'S TRAIL CULMINATES IN A TERRIFYING SHOOTING**_

_December 13, 2011_

_2012 presidential candidate Mark Evanston's exhaustive tour of the Western United States culminated last night in a terrifying shooting in an auditorium in Engelmann City. Evanston was interrupted in the middle of his speech by the sounds of firing guns from the back of the packed auditorium. The situation declined quickly as what is estimated to have been several shooters fired randomly into the crowd. Though Evanston and his family escaped unharmed, 27 others were killed and 10 injured in the shooting and the subsequent mayhem that followed. _

_Most disturbing about the event, however, was the mysterious disappearance of all of the shooters. Police are baffled as to who these shooters may have been, their only clues being two shotguns lacking fingerprints and assorted scrap metal. _

"_Terrorist activity has not been ruled out," said Engelmann City police chief Jacob Eccles. "The prominence of Mr. Evanston in current western politics leaves him a vulnerable and desirable target for several different terrorist factions."_

_In a statement after the shooting, Evanston expressed horror at the situation and sorrow for the lives lost. "I just can't imagine the sorrow so many are going through right now," he said, clutching his daughter close as he spoke. "The situation is horrible, but I want to let the heroic people of this city know that I will do anything I can to help in the next few days. I'm planning on staying here for the original amount of time allotted, which is three more days."_

_Evanston's office and election board offered no comment on whether or not the attack was directed at Evanston and any reasons for it._

_ -Anna Damien, reporter, _

"Oh my God," Cassia whispered as she scrolled through the article. "That..that was _here. _That's horrible."

"Wait," Lavi grabbed the laptop from her hands. "Mark Evanston…shotguns…assorted scrap metal…oh, so he has a daughter. He would, I suppose. I bet he has a son, too…it all adds up, doesn't it? They're here. It's begun. I wonder if the attack on us was planned…I need to figure out if the Order still exists…it must, if Yuu came back…but how'd they _get _him back? That part doesn't add up. Leave it till later. Right. Now…Evanston, daughter, scrap metal, 37 dead."

Cassia, Frida and Kanda all stared at him as he muttered. She fancied that she could almost see the cogs of his brain working as he reasoned through the information in the article.

"Akuma," he finally announced. "It only adds up to that. Mark Evanston, the Millennium Earl. He must have had some Noah in there to help him, hence the guns. And the scrap metal…akuma. He must have ordered them to self-destruct after the attack. He's starting it all over again. This time as a major world leader."

"So…" she was scared. She still didn't feel as though she had a real grasp on what they were talking about, on what any of this meant. But she could tell that it wasn't anything good. "What do we do?"

"We wait," said Kanda gruffly, standing up and clutching his sword. "We wait until they come to us. And then we fight."

* * *

><p>In the kitchen, a dark haired man was leaning against the wall beside the oven. He smirked as he heart the discussion between the teenagers, and his fingers twitched as he brought a black butterfly to their tips. He longed to go out there and take care of them all there and then; he knew he could do it; they were completely defenseless and unprepared. But he had orders…always, orders. So he simply set the butterfly on the counter next to a half-empty coffee cup and a cell phone. They'd find it soon enough, and they'd understand.<p>

"At last…it has begun," he whispered softly, a predatory grin twisting his face.

Shooting one last amused glance toward the voices in the living room, he pressed his hand to the wall and melted into it, disappearing as though he had never been there at all.

* * *

><p><strong>Ahhhhh…finally, another chapter. The good news is, it's my spring break at last, which means that I can hopefully get out a few more chapters in the next week. :P<strong>

**FIVE REVIEWS FOR THE LAST CHAPTER! THANK YOU SO MUCH! Especially drivenbysound. Your review was really helpful, and don't worry, I like long reviews. **

**I shall try to explain the timeline here…yeah. It confuses me, too.**

**So I don't know what year it actually is supposed to be in the manga (I think it's written on a tombstone somewhere, but I don't pay attention to close detail like that). But when I think of the end of the 19****th**** century, I think mid to late 1890s. Thus, I'm saying that "current time" in the manga is about 1895. In my world, the "final battle" happened about two years after the current events in the manga, in late 1897. After the battle, Lavi stayed on at the order for about eight more months, until Bookman died and he left. So, he was "Lavi" until shortly after his 21****st**** birthday, in 1898.**

**However, I do realize that the ages don't make sense. If I recall correctly, Bookman and Junior came to the order when Junior was…15? I think? Or 16? I don't think it ever says exactly, so we'll go with 15. Anyway, if that's true, then he was "Lavi" from *****does maths* 1892 to 1898. Six years? Is that right? And if Bookmen age threeish years to every centuryish, he should be 24, not 23.**

**Sorry for the confusion and my stupidity. I promise I shall go back to correct all of that promptly. **

**But see, this illustrates how much reviews help with the overall goodness/sense of the story. If you want to make the story better/more to your liking, review RIGHT NOW.**

**In other news…god, I love **_**Hamlet**_**, and god, I'm a nerd. Finally, the title makes sense. Sort of. I decided to use the name "Tessei" because I like it better than "Oodzucho Kodzuchi". The date of the end of the final battle, November 2, is All Souls Day, which I thought rather fitting, given the context. Lastly, I apologize for the boringness and OOCness of this chapter. Next chapter'll be more interesting, I promise. I've already got it all planned out! *sparkles***

**Okay. So, in case you didn't get the point yet, REVIEW. If you do, maybe I'll try to make these damn authors notes shorter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the OCs and the lame name for the city. **


	10. Chapter 10

Kanda pulled his head from the fridge and turned to glare at Cassia.

"You don't have any soba."

She was lying with her head down on the counter, hands wrapped around a massive cup of coffee. Her words were muffled as she replied, "Why would I have soba? Why would even be _asking_ for soba? It's breakfast time."

"Soba is edible."

"Funny," she replied. "I find most of the food in this room to be fairly edible."

"_Che_. Well it's not." He put his head back in the fridge and pulled out a jar of Nutella. "This is edible? Really? Cause it fucking looks like shit."

"You refrigerate your Nutella?" Lavi's voice came from the doorway, which he was leaning against. He still looked like he was in pain, but he was nonetheless able to hold himself up, which was certainly an improvement from the day before.

"You look better," she remarked as he limped his way over to sit on one of the bar stools.

"You look worse," he replied, grabbing her coffee and taking a massive gulp. She feebly tried to fend him off, but soon gave up, lying her back down on the counter and groaning slightly at the loud noise made by Kanda as he angrily slammed the fridge door shut. "I have a headache the size of Texas." She directed her attention back to Kanda. "So, what, you're just not going to eat?"

"I'm sure as hell not eating any of the shit in that thing," he said stubbornly, gesturing to the fridge.

"Fine," she groused, feeling rather unwilling to deal with his frustrating manner. She pushed away from the counter and grabbed the coffee back from Lavi.

"Where're you going?" Lavi asked.

"I've got homework."

"I still haven't got any soba," Kanda pointed out.

"Fuck," she rolled her eyes. "Fine. We'll go to the store. Later. _After_ I finish my homework. You can suck it up till then." She made her way out, then poked her head back in. "Do either of you know if Frida's still here?"

"_Che_, why would I care?"

"I dunno…I fell asleep before she left."

As she walked upstairs, she peeked into the spare bedroom. Sure enough, Frida lay curled on the bed, still sleeping soundly. Cassia sighed. She knew that Frida didn't like going home, especially on weekends when both of her parents and her myriad of siblings were all around. She seemed specifically unwilling to return this weekend, however, coming up with excuses to avoid going home that went beyond the norm.

Sighing, she decided it was better not to wake her. Instead, she headed to her own room, intent on curling up in her bed and doing her homework there instead of at her desk.

* * *

><p>After Cassia left, the kitchen remained silent, awkwardly so, as though neither of the boys could think of what to say to one another, despite the fact that they had once been comrades. After a moment, Lavi reached over to pluck the jar of Nutella from Kanda's hands and opened it. Heaving himself from his stood and groaning as he did so, he moved over to the other counter where a bag of sandwich bread lay open.<p>

"It's good spread on bread," he explained to Kanda, shaking the jar. He spread a copious amount on a piece of bread, then poured a cup of coffee for himself.

"Aww, Yuu," he said. "You really not gonna eat? Not even a cup of coffee?"

"No," came the short answer. Lavi shrugged and leaned heavily against the counter as he chewed. Pushing away a different cup so he could make room for his own, he felt something crawl onto his fingers. He turned quickly.

A black and purple butterfly with a visible mouth was perched on his fingers. He yelped, immediately dropping both the coffee and the bread and shaking his hand wildly, trying to dislodge the thing. His efforts were rewarded only with a sharp pain as the butterfly bit deeply into his skin.

"What?" asked Kanda, moving towards him as he cried out in pain.

_Holes. All over his body. Blood, his blood, pouring down to the ground already slick with it, his and others'. The smile of his enemy as he swung and summoned, never able to get in a hit…_

"Please!" he yelled, falling to his knees, voice cracking pitifully in his own ears. He held his hand up entreatingly to Kanda. "Get it off me. _Please_."

Kanda looked puzzled, but grasped the thing's body firmly, jerking it away from Lavi. It brought a chunk of his flesh with it, eliciting another cry of pain as he slumped back to the floor.

Kanda held the thing close to his face, careful not to let the snapping sharp teeth anywhere near his flesh. "This…this is…?"

"A Tease," Lavi gasped from his position on the floor, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his hand. "Tyki Mikk's weapon. He was here, somehow. He must have been…"

"Mikk…that's a Noah."

"Yes."

"A Noah was here. In this house. With us."

"Apparently."

Cassia came crashing into the room, taking in the blood and coffee and butterfly with wide eyes. "What the bloody fuck happened? God, Lavi, you got coffee all over the goddamn floor. Do you think you could help mop this up?" The last question was directed at Kanda.

"_Che_. Slightly busy." He held out the butterfly for her to see.

"Oh, sorry. I should've realized that that little butterfly would be keeping you pretty damn occupied."

"It is, actually."

The two glared at each other until Lavi gave a weak laugh. He felt a strong sense of Déjà vu, remembering how he used to have to break up fights between Yuu and the Moyashi. Cassia really was like Allen.

"Calm down, guys…everything'll be fine."

"No, you fucking rabbit, everything is not fine. You just told me that a Noah's been in this house. I don't call that _fine_."

Cassia looked scared now. "A…Noah?"

"Fucking _Tyki Mikk_."

"I _said_ it was no big deal."

"Dude…wasn't Tyki the one who almost killed you…twice?"

Lavi wilted slightly. "Yes…but I wasn't prepared then. I am now." He hauled himself up, wincing again as his body complained. He wished he had the healing capacities of Yuu. As much as the swordsman obviously hated them, they had to come in handy. He stuck his bleeding hand under the faucet and yelped as the stream of water assaulted it. "Ahh…fuck…"

Sighing, Cassia pulled a rag from a drawer and applied pressure to Lavi's wound. "So you're telling me that there was a Noah in my house and some point, and I didn't…none of us knew it?"

He nodded rather guiltily. "Mikk can phase through walls and stuff, though, and if the Noah are still using the Ark, it's not very surprising that he could have gotten in and out of here without us noticing. What's weird is that he didn't attack us. He just left us this…present."

"Did that…thing…do this?" she asked, horror coloring her tone as she returned her gaze to his hand. "It's a _butterfly_, isn't it?"

He nodded grimly. "It's a Tease. It can bite through just about anything."

"That's disgusting," she said. Keeping a firm pressure on his hand, she tore a paper towel off the rack with her teeth and wrapped it around the wound. "Hold that there," she ordered. "I'll go get a bandage." She left the room, leaving Kanda and Lavi alone together once more.

Lavi gave a short little laugh, attempting to alleviate the seriousness of the situation. It didn't work.

"This isn't good, Usagi."

"I know. I didn't think it would happen quite so quickly. I shouldn't have expected it _not_ to, but still…I mean, we need more people! Three of us can't save the world. I suppose there might be more, in other places around the world, but we can't know for sure, and I haven't observed any…"

Kanda frowned at the Tease and dropped it on the floor, grinding it under the heel of his boot before it could move. It made a sickening crunching sound, and Lavi winced. "Listen," Kanda said, seemingly in deep thought. "If I'm back…"

"Others could be, too," Lavi interrupted. "I've already thought of that. But, Yuu, you're, uh, _special_. You know, with the curse and everything…"

Kanda's brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about, Usagi?"

Lavi dropped the bloody paper towel in surprise. "You don't…you don't remember the _lotus curse?_"

"No…well, I remember lotuses. All over. They're supposed to be here now, but they aren't."

"Take off your shirt."

Kanda regarded him coolly. "Fuck no."

"Yuu, I'm fucking serious. _Take your shirt off right now."_

"That's awkward," said Cassia, re-entering the kitchen with a roll of gauze in her hands. "Dammit, Lavi, why'd you drop the towel? Now there's even more blood on the floor."

Lavi brushed past her impatiently, in front of Kanda before either of them could react. With one hand, he tore off the front of Kanda's shirt to stare at his chest. As he suspected, there was no tattoo. Not even a hint of it remained, just smooth, muscled skin."

"Well," he gulped. "This complicates things a bit."

Kanda punched him.

Abruptly, he was pressed against a wall. His jaw stung, and a very angry Kanda stood above him. He got nose to nose with Lavi and then hissed in a low, dangerous voice, "_Do. Not. Touch. Me. You. Fucking. Usagi_. That was my only damn shirt." Kanda's hands let him go and he slid rather pathetically down the wall to rest on the floor. He raised a bloody hand to his jaw and felt tender, already swelling skin. That was going to be a spectacular bruise.

"Well," said Cassia, coming to kneel in front of him and taking his hand to gently wrap it in the gauze. "That was quite forward of you. I wouldn't've thought you swung that way, Lavi, but I guess you are a little too well-dressed to be straight."

He snatched his hand back from her. "I don't swing _that way!"_

"Sure," she said, an almost predatory grin spreading across her face. "Keep denying yourself. But know that I'll be there for you once you step your other foot out of the closet—"

Abruptly, Kanda was in her face, too. "He is not fucking _homo_ for me, _baka,_ because, if he was, he would already be _dead_."

She put her hands up in gesture of surrender. "Whatever you say, boys." She stood and moved to the sink to wash the blood from her hands. "Listen. Since my productive day of homework-doing has officially been damaged beyond salvaging, why don't we just go to the store now? I'm craving goat cheese for lunch, anyway, and we haven't got any."

"Okay!" Lavi jumped up, immediately over his previous anger. Cassia regarded him critically.

"You sure you can, you know, walk around alright?"

"Sure! If not, I can always ride in the cart!"

"_Che_. I'm not going. Women are supposed to do the shopping."

Immediately, it was Cassia's turn to be in _his_ face. "Welcome to the 21st century, _baka._ Women don't do all the shit anymore. You're coming, because I don't even know what the hell soba is."

Kanda looked slightly taken aback by the forwardness of Cassia, but he managed to recover. "You don't even know what _baka_ means."

"Given the fact that you call him that every few minutes," she said, gesturing to Lavi, "I think I've got a pretty good idea."

She walked out of the room, grabbing the car keys as she went. Lavi made to follow her, grinning at Kanda as he passed.

"She's a smart one, isn't she?"

"_Che."_

* * *

><p>Kanda was not fazed by much. He had dealt with memory loss, a new century, and a fucking idiotic rabbit without blinking an eye. But this…this was something different.<p>

The building was massive and bright. People streamed in and out constantly, most pushing contraptions that sort of reminded him of baby carriages, but were obviously not, because they were holding _food_, ridiculous amounts of food in weird packages and cartons. When Cassia had said "the store" he had imagined a small sort of general store like the town outside of the Order had, or perhaps a market like those in the large cities of Europe and Asia. This…this was like nothing he had ever seen or imagined. And, despite his greatest efforts to let nothing show on his face, he knew that his eyes were wide (not _that _wide) and his mouth was hanging slightly open (not gaping…no, Kanda Yuu did _not_ gape) as Cassia led them through the doors (they were moving on their own?) and into the interior of the store (why was it warmer inside the store than it was outside? Come to think of it, Cassia's house had also been like that….)

Lavi appeared to be thoroughly enjoying his amazement, stealing glances toward him and even _giggling_ every now and then, the little fucker. Kanda Yuu did _not _like people giggling at him, but the glares he shot at Lavi every time it happened didn't seem to phase the damn Usagi in the slightest.

Cassia, at least, was paying no attention to him. She seemed to have a mission, and she moved from area to area quickly, picking up what she needed and speedily walking to the next, leaving Kanda and Lavi trailing in her wake. They eventually caught up with her in the produce department as she scrutinized several cucumbers. Eventually picking the best and throwing it into her own baby carriage contraption, she looked up at Kanda.

"Right. All we need is the soba now. So…go find it."

"I don't know where the fuck to find it in this place."

"Oh! Right! You wouldn't have been to a supermarket like this before. Well, let's see…it's Japanese, right?"

He glared at her obvious lack of knowledge toward this most sacred of foods, but answered with a low growl. "Right."

"So…it'd probably be in the ethnic foods place…okay, follow me!" She took off again, with Lavi bouncing along behind. Grumbling he followed, nearly crashing into several people who were rolling along the baby carriages while talking loudly into things held up to their ears. Come to think of it, he'd seen a bunch of people doing that on his walk to Cassia's house. That was weird. It was like they were talking into wireless golems, but the things weren't flying…they were thick and metallic looking. When people weren't talking into them, they seemed to be overly interested in the fronts of the things, poking and prodding at them constantly.

He wasn't sure if he liked this century all that much.

But then, none of that mattered, because suddenly he was reading food labels _in Japanese_ and they said そば, soba noodles. They probably weren't nearly as good as Jerry's, but still…at last, here was something normal, familiar. He grasped the package and held it tight, unwilling to let it go.

"Found it?" asked Cassia. She looked at what he held, and then grabbed a few more of the packages to throw in the baby carriage. "That isn't very much. You'll need more."

He nodded silently, and, keeping a tight hold on the package, turned to survey the rest of the aisle.

Immediately, another package jumped out at him, blaring the word: もやし.

Bean sprouts.

His hand became suddenly nerveless, and the package of soba fell with a muffled _thump_ to the dirty linoleum.

Lavi turned. "Yuu? What is it?"

He didn't even bother to call Lavi out on the use of his first name. He was too busy staring, hands shaking slightly as memories assaulted him. He had remembered the basics. The Noah. The Akuma. The innocence. The fucking idiot rabbit. But everything else had been fuzzy…dim flickering of something white and annoying, of something else with long, long, legs, and someone who drank too much coffee. But now…

_The fucking white-haired brat walking into the Order like he owned the place, too short to be allowed. _

"_The name's ALLEN, BaKanda…"_

_The fucking martyr complex that had caused Kanda to save him more times than he could count; why, he didn't know. Why hadn't he just let the stupid Moyashi die?_

_Bean sprouts had always tasted particularly good in his soba…_

_White, white, white, masked, cloak, sword…_

…_until he turned dark…_

_had that been his fault?_

…_stabbed._

_And it was with _him_, yes, _him…_the Moyashi fighting and disobeying and…_

_Crying for him?_

"_If anyone was capable of helping Alma, it'd be Kanda…"_

_Crying…_

He_ was dying, and Kanda watched…_

_And then…_

_The Moyashi was no longer white…_

_But he tried…tried so hard to help…_

_And it had all ended anyway…_

_His last memory…watching a white and black hurricane. Moyashi and the fucking Earl…_

_And then…_

_Everything gone…._

_Other things too._

_The girl's name was Lenalee, and god, she had been beautiful. She would have been more beautiful if she didn't have a fucking insane brother, but still._

_Tiedoll, always stained with paint and insisting on calling him "Yuu-chan", his son. He _wasn't _his son. But his heart wrenched at the memory anyway._

_Calm, cool, collected, quiet. That was…Marie? Yes. He had never minded Marie, even would have gone so far as to say he _liked _him. He was okay to be around. Didn't insist on talking._

_And there was green light, and wounds healed, and the nervous voice of someone else annoying. And bright fangs. That one was also annoying, although he was all right to have in battle. Who…Miranda. Miranda and Krory._

_And the little fucker who had way too big of an ego and a fucking egg stuck in his head. He'd had to save that one…right, that had been with Moyashi, too, and another. A blonde, with marks on his head and a massive stick up his ass. Blink. Dink? Link. Levallier, that fucker. And Master Zu…dying and crying…_

"_You're also going to hell, then."_

_Lotus blossoms. Lotus blossoms everywhere, coloring his world in pink and white, dying and blooming again and again. There had been something missing here, and that was it. He wasn't sure if he missed it or not. The world seemed less alive without them there._

_Oh, God._

"Yuu? Yuu-chan!"

"Kanda? Oh, not you, too. I've already had to do this with that idiot."

"C'mon, Yuu! Wake up!"

_But there was so much left to remember…_

"Yuu, you're leagues stronger than I am. You don't need a mental breakdown like I did, right? You can handle it."

"At least until we get out of the fucking supermarket. Then you can break down all you want."

"It'd probably be better if he didn't…"

_He didn't want to do the same thing the idiot rabbit had done._

_Come to think of it, he didn't really want to remember anything else…_

"Dammit, someone's coming over here…"

He forced his eyes open, finding himself in uncomfortably close proximity to the green of the rabbit's and the hazel of the girl's.

Why was he lying on the floor?

He forced himself up, wincing at the jarring pain in his head. Cassia let out a barely audible breath of relief and grabbed the soba package, lobbing it into the baby carriage and grabbing Kanda's hand to hoist him up as the salesperson approached. He swayed slightly as he stood, but managed, luckily for his pride and their excuse, to stay on his feet.

"Everything okay over here?" asked the salesperson in a suspicious tone of voice.

"Yup!" said the rabbit, too animated. "Yuu here just slipped a bit. He's pretty clumsy, ya know. He can trip himself on air." He threw a nonchalant arm around Kanda's shoulders and grinned winningly at the salesperson. The salesperson, obviously charmed, smiled back and played with a lock of her hair. "Okay, then. If you need any help, come find me!"

"Thanks," said Lavi, squinting his eye to read her nametag. "Marissa. Will do! Won't have to if Yuu-chan here'll stop being so clumsy!" Then he chucked. _Chuckled._

Oh, the fucking idiot Usagi was _so dead._

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, he couldn't kill the rabbit immediately, because his head was spinning and his thoughts were too scattered. So he settled for shooting him death glares every few minutes, all of which the asshole studiously ignored. Driving home, he let his head sag against he window, the cool glass soothing the pounding headache as memories continued to swirl…<p>

_Marie, he remembered Marie the most. Marie had made him laugh, once…_

_Moyashi had never made him laugh, but he'd smiled at him once. Just once._

_Lenalee. He kept remembering her, things she'd done with him and for him. Why was he remembering her so much? She was just another of the dead…but there was a strong feeling that he _needed _to remember her…_

_Lenalee had been the one who laughed for him…_

"Stop the car!"

Usagi's voice wrenched him out of his memories. It was panicked, wild. "Stop!"

Cassia pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the breaks. "What the hell, Lavi?"

He was staring out the window, hand pressed to the glass. Kanda followed his gaze to a park bench under a tree…the same bench he'd found himself on when his consciousness had returned.

There was someone else there, now, with dark hair.

Dark hair and a _very_ short skirt.

And red anklets.

"Oh, shit," he said out loud.

* * *

><p><strong>The predictability is predictable.<strong>

**Do the pathetic attempts at humor in this chapter temper out the angst-fest? Tell me if I'm funny at all or if it just fails hard.**

**Also, sorry if the Japanese words didn't work out…google translate is not the most reliable source.**

**REVIEW, por favor. Son muy ayuda. (How to speak the spanishes.)**


	11. Chapter 11

**I looked back through this fic and I realized that all the characters swear a lot. Sorry 'bout that. (Although… it **_**is**_** a fic with Lavi, Kanda, and a bunch of high school kids…what do you expect?)**

**Anyway, I'll try and be better this chapter. For Easter. Or whatever.**

* * *

><p>"Who are you talking about?" Cassia asked, frantically staring around. In the back seat, Lavi was battling with the door, pushing and shoving at it, trying to open it. "Unlock it! Cassia! Unlock the doors!"<p>

She fumbled for the button and there was an audible click as the doors unlocked. Lavi was out of the car in a second, running towards the bench, hand clenched around his hammer. Kanda spared Cassia a cursory glance, spat out the word, "Lenalee," and vaulted out of the car too, ignoring the pain still battering his head.

"Who…" Cassia started to ask, but they were both gone. Sighing, she killed the engine and slowly got out of the car, following the paths of the two boys. Lavi was standing a few feet away from a bench, staring with a completely broken look on his face at its occupant, who seemed completely oblivious to the scrutiny. Kanda was standing a few feet farther from her, still as a statue.

She halted behind Kanda and stared at the girl. She was beautiful, obviously Asian, with ridiculously long legs that she appeared to have no qualms about showing off. She was wearing the shortest skirt Cassia had ever seen, and yet she couldn't deny that it looked good on the girl. Her head was turned, so Cassia could not directly see her face, but she could tell that her features were delicate and pale. She was staring, completely engrossed, around her, her eyes flicking back and forth between the road, with its innumerable cars rushing by, and at two guys break dancing to blaring hip-hop under a tree. Looking as though…as though she'd never seen anything like it before.

And then, Cassia got it.

"Oh, shit," she said, echoing Kanda. She hurried to catch up to the two boys, but stopped short as she saw that there was a person standing behind Lenalee.

He looked normal, listening to an iPod and leaning against the park bench with a hand in his pocket. Normal, except for the fact that his other hand was wildly twisted, contorted beyond belief, bright red, and formed into a gun.

A gun that was pointing directly at the girl's head.

Kanda seemed to realize it an instant after she did. He cursed, and his sword was suddenly in his hand. She could feel her wrist tingling and throbbing painfully, and as she looked down, she saw that the bracelet was emitting a soft glow. She whimpered slightly, wanting nothing more than to make it _go away_, yet also realizing that she was going to have to use it in the very near future.

Lavi didn't seem to notice the gun. He was too transfixed with the girl, or perhaps he was just standing at an angle where her body blocked it. His arm, holding the hammer, dangled down uselessly by his side. He was vulnerable, she could tell, and she started toward him, but she was too late…

Another man walked right behind Lavi and transformed into something…awful. Bulbous and misshaped, looking half animal and half machine, sprouting guns from every part of its body, with a maniacal grin on its otherwise tortured face. It stretched out an arm and swept Lavi aside as though he were nothing more than a twig. He crashed against the ground thirty feet away and let out a pained cry. The other one, behind the girl, turned to look at Cassia—eye contact.

Time froze.

They stared at each other, she poised in the act of running, it getting ready to pull the trigger. And then it laughed. She saw the gun twitch.

She started running.

But she knew she would be too late.

* * *

><p><strong>Right…so, short chapter, I know. But that felt like the place I needed to stop. To make up for it, I'll post the next (long) chapter over the weekend. I promise.<strong>

**You know what's sad? Last chapter, I got a ton of subscribers and views and stuff, but only 1 review. **

**Son, I am dissapoint.**


	12. Chapter 12

Cassia made it about two steps, knowing that her efforts were utterly futile. But from the corner of her eye, she saw something moving, something large…almost flying through the air…

She halted and stared, completely dumbstruck as Kanda sailed—yes, _sailed_, there was no other word for it—through the air. Before she could even begin to process what had just happened, his sword came down in a lightning-fast blur, severing the gun-hand. He pushed the girl out of the way, and she yelped as she hit the ground, shrieking louder as Kanda deftly ran the thing through with his sword. It disintegrated into dust, scattering into the air around them.

She glanced over to where Lavi had fallen and found him up, fighting the thing that had originally attacked him, and apparently winning.

She relaxed slightly, thinking they had a handle on things.

Something brushed the back of her neck.

She whirled around—or tried to. Something had her in its grip. It was laughing in her ear and squeezing the breath out of her lungs. She could tell that it was one of the creatures, and through her dimming vision she saw there were more…dozens more.

She didn't have enough breath in her lungs left to speak, so instead she thought, directing her thoughts, rather irrationally, toward the throbbing pain in her wrist.

_Okay…so…you're supposed to be of use in a situation like this._

_You didn't want me,_ a voice tickled in the back of her head.

_So now it talks, too._ This was getting better and better every second._ Help me!_

_How?_ It was obstinate.

_You're supposed to fight this! So do it! Please!_

_Will you accept it?_

God, she didn't want to. She wanted to say "hell no," and then run away to Alaska.

But people were getting hurt and blood was pounding in her ears and she couldn't breath, not enough air and she had to, she had to.

"Yes!" she gasped out aloud, using the last of her breath.

_All right, then._

Her wrist exploded, and there was a loud crashing sound, and then she was falling through the air, clawing at her chest as ashes fell around her.

She dimly perceived that her wrist, her hand, her entire lower arm was on fire. Gold and silver flames, flickering ethereally in her fuzzy vision.

More of the creatures were hovering above her, but she still didn't have enough breath in her lungs to stand up. She raised her hand above her and whispered, "Go. Please."

Thin, delicate strands of flame shot out and wrapped around the beasts above her. As the touched, flames enveloped their bodies and they dissolved into ashes. She was relieved to see them destroyed, but she felt her own energy levels plummet for every bulbous body that exploded.

She twisted her body around on the ground, searching for Lavi and Kanda. She found Kanda immediately, wiping his sword on the tail of his shirt, a disgusted expression on his face. Lavi was farther away, smashing the last creature in to dust as she watched. He relaxed and stretched afterword, allowing a small smile to cross his face.

Except it is wasn't the last one…

There was another, right behind him, reaching…

Kanda didn't see, couldn't see, Lavi didn't notice, only she saw—

She opened her mouth to call out, but she knew there wasn't enough time—

So she stretched out her hand—

And the fire moved in on it…

Lavi turned with an astonished expression to see the ashes of the thing that had almost killed him sifting down on his upturned face. His gaze went first to Kanda, but when that man only shrugged, he turned to Cassia.

The fire was still burning around her wrist, and she wanted it to go away, because it hurt, and so was _so tired_.

"That's twice…I've saved…your…ass," she managed to get out, and then everything was darkness and she was falling into it, and she was happy to let go.

* * *

><p>She didn't understand, but she wasn't too disturbed by that fact. She supposed that she should be feeling panic, but she didn't, probably because it was pushed away by a single memory—a face, a name. She remembered that much.<p>

She didn't understand where she was. It was too confusing. The noise, the people, the odd behaviors and words she had never heard, the things on the road, rushing, rushing by too fast to be real.

There were two men under a tree dancing jerkily to…was that actually _music_? She couldn't tear her eyes off their movements.

She was trying to remember her name…she knew she must have one, but it wasn't coming. All that came to her was that pale, scarred face. He was smiling, but he looked sad. She wondered why.

She reached down to touch the red band around her ankle. She felt like it was important, too, but she couldn't think why. When she touched it, she felt a little drum of power flick through her hand. She couldn't remember _why_.

She had to let it go.

She had his face, his name.

That was enough.

But then there was a man, and she was on the ground, and he had a sword, and was he…stabbing another man? Right in front of her and a million other people? But that man he was stabbing…was wrong. Like some of the other people around her. There was another boy, and a girl. Fire and a hammer. And they were killing them, too, and for some reason that was okay. The things had to be killed. Right? Why? She should be helping, shouldn't she? Why should she be helping?

She stayed on the ground.

Did she have a name?

The other boy was there, with a mop of bright red hair and the girl draped over his back with her eyes closed. He was too close. "Hello, Lenalee," he said, his eyes cautious.

Why did he call her that? Was _that _her name?

"_Baka Usagi,_" came the other man's growl. "She won't remember."

She said the only thing that came to her mind. "You're not Allen."

The redhead nearly dropped the girl on his back. "Wha—Yuu! She remembers _Allen!_"

"Che." The man was in front of her now, long black hair disheveled as he looked at her distastefully. "Who's Allen, then?"

"Wha—Yuu, you know who Allen is!"

"Shut up, _baka_."

She stared at them, trying to remember. Why couldn't she remember? Was she Lenalee? There was another face, hazy and indistinct in the back of her mind. But she couldn't remember the name of that one, just a hazy feeling of warmth and love. Allen was…Allen was…

"Allen's who I remember. He's the one that matters."

The two boys looked at each other. Then back to her.

"Where is he? He's supposed to be here."

"Uh…he's not."

She didn't know what to do. "He's supposed to be."

"Right." The redhead looked uncomfortable. "So you don't remember me? Or Yuu?"

She was more confused. "I remember me. I just don't remember who I am."

"No…not _you, Yuu._ I—do you remember Kanda?

She stared at them for a long moment. Her mind tickled, as though the answers were there, locked behind barriers that she couldn't take down. She _should_ know these men. She wanted to remember them.

But she couldn't. The only one there was Allen.

So she shook her head, trying to ignore the look of hurt on the redhead's face and the forced indifference on the other's.

She wanted to. She couldn't. Allen. _Allen_. Her mind had promised her that he would be here, but he wasn't here. He wasn't anywhere. Where was he? She needed him. She needed him there by her side. When he wasn't by her side, bad things happened. She wasn't sure what they were, but they weren't good. _Why wasn't he here?_

The redhead was more cautious now. He hesitantly held out his hand, and she took it, lifting herself off the ground to stand, brushing herself off. Her skirt was short. She hadn't realized that before. She hoped she hadn't flashed anyone.

"Will you…come with us? I know that sounds creepy, but you—we know who Allen is too…and maybe together we can find him?"

Hope flashed in her heart. "You know who he is?"

They both nodded. "Yeah."

"You think…we can find him?" Her voice was a whisper, quieted by hope.

The redhead looked grim. "I hope so."

She nodded, slightly hesitant. "What's your name, then?"

"I'm Lavi," he said, then seemed to wait, as though that would jog her memory. It didn't. Just the same indistinct tickling behind the locked doors. He sighed. "This is Cassia," he indicated the girl passed out on his back, "and that's Yuu—Kanda."

She nodded, then mustered up a smile for him.

"Let's go, then."

* * *

><p>She was moving too much. Or, rather, the world around her was. She was lying down, she thought, but everything was bumping around far too much for her to be in bed.<p>

Something lurched, and there was a sudden rolling motion—and then she hit something. Hard. She groaned.

A muffled curse came from somewhere, and, in closer proximity, a voice she didn't recognize whispered, "I think she's waking up." She forced her eyes open to see who it was.

The Asian girl from the park. Her face was very close to Cassia's, and she yelped, shooting up from her prone position and nearly hitting the girl in the nose. That was before she realized where she was. On the floor of the backseat of her car. That's where she was…so…who was driving? She craned her neck to look into the driver's seat.

Lavi.

She cursed, then fell forward again as he gunned the engine, zooming away from a stoplight milliseconds after it turned green. He turned a corner, and the entire car tilted sideways, screeching and groaning as it settled back onto four wheels.

"Lavi! Dammit, pull over! _Stop driving my car!_"

"Cool it, Cassia! I'm a great driver! I've got a hundred more years of experience!"

"Really? I can't tell! I swear to god, if you ruin my car, I'll—"

"I'll buy you a new one," he drawled calmly, taking another turn at 50 miles an hour. "And it'll be nicer than this piece of crap."

She felt slightly offended. Scrambling back up onto the seat so she could be on the same level as he, she spat, "I bought this with my own money, you prick, and for your information I find it to be quite a nice vehicle. If you have a problem with it, why don't you go buy your own damn car and _never drive mine again_?"

She felt a cool, soothing hand on her arm and turned to see the Asian girl.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," she said, giving a smile. Thrown against the back of the seat yet again, Cassia decided to give up, smiling back at the girl rather weakly.

"You're Cassia, right? That's what they called you," said the girl, holding out a hand.

She shook it, nodding. "And you're…" she knew she should remember it, but her brain felt muddled and messed up, not to mention her wrist, which was still burning as though it was on fire, though the bracelet looked as normal as could be.

"Well, they call me 'Lenalee.'"

"Ah…so you don't remember anything, either?" Great.

"No!" said the girl, almost angry. "I do! I remember Allen! That's all I _need_ to remember, right?" She phrased it as a question, directed toward Cassia. As though Cassia could answer it. She just shrugged. "I suppose that's a good thing…"

Lenalee nodded excitedly. "I think that's what matters. But I can't really remember why. See, he was supposed to be here, but he isn't. It's just those guys, who say they know me, but I don't remember them. Wait…do you know Allen? Do you know where he is? They said we'd find him together, but they haven't said anything else about it…does that mean you're the one who'll find him?"

She was talking rather fast, and Cassia could hardly keep up with her. Allen, she kept saying. Did she know an Allen? Yes, she did, but he was a greasy-haired punk rocker who was a year older than her at school. Somehow, she didn't think that this girl was referring to him.

"Uh, no, I don't think I do. But I don't know a lot of the people they do. I…kind of got thrown into this."

The girl's face fell, and Cassia couldn't help but feel bad for her. "If they say we'll find him, we will," she said, attempting to insert a reassuring tone into her voice. The girl mustered a smile, and Cassia smiled back.

They bumped roughly into the driveway, Lavi turning and grinning smugly as he parked.

"See? We're alive!"

She just rolled her eyes and staggered out of the car, still feeling utterly exhausted.

Frida met them at the door. "There you are! When I woke up, you were just gone! Why're you all bloody? And who's that?"

"We just went shopping. And then we got in a fight and picked up another person."

Frida just shook her head. "You should just start calling this place a youth hostel now. It'll save time in the future."

"Funny," Cassia said sarcastically, pushing past her, desperate for Tylenol.

She took two and leaned against the counter, wishing that everything would just go away. Especially the incessant pain in her wrist. "Stop it," she hissed at the bracelet aloud. "I'm done with you. So go away and stop freaking hurting!"

"You have to deactivate it," said a voice from the doorway. Lavi.

"And how do I do that?"

"Just tell it to. 'Innocence, deactivate.'"

"Wow, okay, that sounds really cheesy and also, could they _really_ not have come up with a better name for this stuff than _Innocence_? I mean, you said earlier, 'I lost my Innocence in a big battle with Tyki,' and I was just like, 'wow, that's incredibly awkward.'"

He sighed. "Just say it. Trust me, It'll make you feel better, and then the power'll stop be such an energy drain."

She really didn't want to say it out loud, so instead she thought it. _Innocence, deactivate. _Then she added a _please_, just to be polite. Immediately, the burning stopped and she felt less lightheaded. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Wow. Thank God."

He frowned. "You didn't say anything."

"I just thought it…sorta _to_ my wrist. That's how I made it, you know, _come out_ in the first place. 'Cause I couldn't breathe or anything."

Still frowning, he opened the fridge and started unloading groceries. "You must have an unusually high synch rate. Especially being a new user 'n everything…man, I wish Hev was still around…"

"What're you talking about?"

"Nothing." He straightened and slammed the fridge door shut. "But I do owe you thanks. You were right. You've saved my ass twice now, which means I owe you big. I quite like having my ass on me."

She snorted. "Just remember—you're in my power now. You have to do anything I say."

"I'm scared."

"You should be."

* * *

><p>His eye hurt, and so did his body. He hadn't fought with his innocence in more than 100 years, and that on top of his previous injuries, which he thought he'd been hiding pretty well, but which were actually hurting him plenty, well, it didn't combine for a very good feeling. Not to mention Lenalee, whose memory appeared to be even worse than Yuu's had been, and who just kept blabbering on about Allen, Allen, Allen. It only brought back more bad memories…<p>

_His smile, his laugh, that determined look her got on his face that warned of his damn martyr complex coming into play…three years of friendsh—_camaraderie_, and then he was gone, it was over, it didn't matter anymore, _couldn't_ matter anymore, and now, here were all the dead ghosts, surrounding him and Allen, too…well, he _had_ to be back, didn't he? Lenalee seemed so sure. Lenalee, who didn't remember him, who only remembered Allen, Allen, Allen…_

And so the cycle would begin again.

He needed to get his mind off of things, so he quietly snuck away from the conversation going on between the others—more dead people, more attacks, more and more like last time—and walked down the hall until he came to the room he had spotted the day before.

All four walls were covered with bookshelves, packed to bursting with more old, leather bound tomes. A large window let light into the room and it caught on the gold embossments on the spines, reflecting back to illuminate the innumerable, floating dust motes that seem to accompany old books wherever they go. Today, a small tabby cat was napping on the window seat, basking in the sunlight and purring loudly enough for him to hear it from the doorway. He breathed in a deep sigh, taking in the smell of crushed leather, glue, and disintegrating paper. Here, he was home. He plucked a random book off the shelf. _Meditations_. Marcus Aurelius.

_When he'd first become Bookman's apprentice, the old man had handed him this book. "If you understand this," he'd said," then I think this arrangement will work out just fine." His young, eager self had devoured the book in less than a day, reveling in the words and sentiments expressed in its pages. When he'd handed it back to Bookman and explained what it had meant to him, the old man had said nothing, just smiled and patted him on the head…_

Another tear ran down his cheek and he dashed it away angrily. What was it with these tears? He was crying a century's worth in just a few days…

He opened _Meditations_ and his heart jolted at the page he had landed on.

"_Dwell on the beauty of life._

_Watch the stars and see yourself dancing with them."_

It had been his favorite quote, and he'd repeated it incessantly to Bookman, until the older man had finally told him that he _couldn't _dwell on the beauty of life, because too much life was lost every day, and that he had to keep his head out of the skies, because a Bookman's place was on earth, recording.

There would never be any dancing with the stars for Bookman Junior.

Damn these pesky tears.

He retreated to the window and curled up next to the cat in the sun, soaking it up and letting himself relax as he read the philosophy. He didn't know how much time passed until he heard an audible _click_ and saw a short flash out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw Frida in the doorway, a camera in her hands.

"Gotta take photos for my AP photography portfolio. You're a good subject. Hope you don't mind."

Numbly, he shook his head, still half-lost in the dreamland of words.

Cassia poked her head in around Frida. "What're you doing? Oh, there you are, Lavi. You kinda disappeared."

"Sorry," he said. "I noticed this room earlier, and I just wanted to come and see it. It's nice."

Frida retreated, leaving them alone. Cassia smiled sadly, nudging her toe at the edge of a throw rug. "Yeah. This was my dad's office. It still smells like him. What're you reading?"

He held up _Meditations_ and her face lit up.

"Marcus Aurelius! My dad used to read me that as bedtime stories." She held a hand to her chest and orated, "_Watch the stars and see yourself dancing with them._"

"That's my favorite quote. I used to say it enough to drive my guardian crazy."

"Yeah, I like that one too. That was my dad's favorite. I think my favorite one from him is '_it loved to be'_."

He hesitated. "I never really understood that one. I mean, _what_ loved to be?"

"That's the greatness of it," she replied, moving over to the window and picking up the cat, who looked rather disgruntled at the intrusion. "It's _everything_, right? Inherently, _everything _loves to be. The _world_ loves to be. The _universe_ loves to be. Life. You and me. Sofia," she gestured to the cat. "The sun, the dust, the words on these pages. _It._ It loved—loves—to be."

"I guess, when you think about it that way…it's joyful. I've always been amazed that he could pull stuff like this out of his hat, when he wrote most of the book while on campaign against the Germanic tribes, and the Roman Empire was basically hanging by a thread."

She just smiled. "I guess he had to find something to live for."

Frida poked her head back in. "The news is on. You guys might want to come see this."

The trailed her out of the library room, Cassia still carrying the cat, and Lavi clutching _Meditations,_ finger marking the page he'd been on.

"And the top news story tonight," the newscaster was saying, "is the tragic shooting in Grant's Park that occurred this afternoon."

"Grant's Park…" murmured Lavi. "That's where we found Lenalee."

"Masked gunmen approached and began shooting down pedestrians. We'll go to Diane for the story."

The screen cut to a woman standing in the park where they had fought earlier. Police cars and ambulances crowded behind her, lights flashing.

"Thanks, Bruce," she said. "Yes, as you can see, it's quite a scene here. The shootings, which happened around three this afternoon, were carried out by masked gunmen."

The screen cut to a grainy shot obviously taken by a security camera. People dressed in dark clothes were moving through the crowd. He couldn't see any guns in their hands, but people around them were screaming and falling. And there was blood. Lots of it.

"The gunmen appeared to be looking for a specific person, shouting to everyone the cryptic messages, 'Where is the Dark Booted one,' or 'We're here for the innocence'. It's suspected that they are part of a gang, and it is being considered by police that they could be the same group that attacked the recent convention where presidential candidate Mark Evanston was speaking.

"Most suspicious about today's crime is the video evidence that the gunmen themselves left behind." The screen cut to another grainy clip, this time with someone's face directly in the screen. "We're coming for you," it was saying. "You know who you are, and we'll catch up with you soon. This is just the beginning. You can't win this war."

The eyes were golden and the voice was smooth. Lavi shuddered.

"Tyki Mikk."

"The one who broke into this house?"

"Yep."

"Bastard," Kanda snarled.

"Who're you talking about?" asked Lenalee and Frida simultaneously.

"We'll explain later," Lavi said. The reporter was speaking again.

"Five died and eleven were injured in today's shooting. Engelmann City Police Department appreciates any information that can be given concerning this group, and will accept anonymous tips."

The reporter held out her microphone to a serious-looking police officer. "We're considering all the options here," he said, "and right now we're not drawing any conclusions. Just rest assured that we're doing our best to apprehend this group and get them off the streets. If you have any information about this group _or_ who they were apparently targeting in this attack, please let the police know."

"Tonight," the newscaster said, planting a falsely sorrowful mask on her face, "the families of those who are injured or dead are grieving. Anna Moore, mother of a Brianna, a young girl who was severely injured in today's shooting, has started a fund for the injured and dead. If you want to contribute, go to this website." A url appeared at the bottom of the page, flashing on and off. "Back to you, Bruce."

The newscaster shook his head sadly. "A true tragedy. Thank you Diane. And now on to more local news…today, the Engelmann City dog show was held at the downtown convention center. Our cultural correspondent Joey was there to bring you the woofs." He chuckled, as though he'd said something completely genius. "Joey?"

The screen cut to a man standing among a bunch of dogs, and Lavi tuned out, drowning in his own thoughts. This was not good. This was not good at all. It was too much like the last time, with people getting massacred for no reason, with the Noah teasing them—because that's all they were doing, just teasing them. They knew full well that they could wipe out the four exorcists here in a second. They were playing a game. He didn't want to play this game. He was so tired of games.

* * *

><p>Halfway through the news broadcast, she couldn't take it anymore. The blood in the background of the woman made her sick, the background noise of the sirens hurt her ears, and the golden eyes haunted her mind.<p>

"_We're coming for you…you can't win this war."_

She wasn't fighting because she wanted to. Shouldn't that count for something?

She walked toward the car. She had to get out, had to leave, at least for long enough to forget that life was happening. She'd go up a canyon and take a walk. Just for long enough to clear her head. Then she'd come back. She would. She wasn't contemplating running away, or throwing herself off a cliff and into a river. Definitely not.

"Cassia!"

Damn.

"What?" It came out short and snappish, not as she had meant it to.

Lavi held up his hands. "Whoa there. Just wanted to know where you're going."

"Away."

"Why?"

"Cause I _want _to." God, she sounded like a whiny two-year-old.

"Okay, then." He stood back. She noticed that he still held the copy of _Meditations_, a finger stuck in to mark the page he was on. The action reminded her so strongly of her father that she nearly choked, turning away from him to lean on open door of the car, staring up at the cloudy winter sky until the tears passed.

She heard his footsteps, and he was right behind her. "You all right?"

She swallowed. "Fine."

He was silent. She pushed her father's face from her mind and turned to face him. "Wanna come with? I'll show you my favorite place."

He smiled, looking relieved that she'd gotten over whatever had briefly engulfed her emotions.

"Yeah."

* * *

><p><strong>So I know I said I'd update over the weekend, but I went snowshoeing instead. And then school happened.<strong>

**Ummm…the way the story is progressing, it seems like it might be CassiaxLavi. I swear I didn't plan it that way, cause I generally really hate OC characters, especially when paired with canon characters, cause they seem really flat in comparison. But I feel like there's just…something between these two. Maybe it's just friendship. Anyway. Tell me if you'd hate me and this story forever if that happened, and give me your ideas, and I'll attempt to figure it out.**

**Also, this chapter was really hard to write for some reason and I still think it sucks dick. Oh well. Tell me what you think.**

**YES I WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE OBSCURE LITERARY REFERENCES. BECAUSE I AM A NERD.**

**I don't own it and **_**review**_** (thanks to those who did…they make me so warm and fuzzy).**


	13. Chapter 13

They drove up, to where the snow had already come and dusted the ground and pine limbs with a delicate coat of white. They didn't talk, just listened to the radio quietly playing soft guitar tunes. The clouds grew heavier and thicker above them as they climbed, pearly and fat with the snow they carried. "Might get snow in the valley tonight," Cassia remarked. He only nodded, eyes fixed out the window.

They pulled over onto the grass on a small rise and she got out of the car, beckoning him to follow. They took a small path that wound through the trees and over a creek on a small footbridge until they broke through from the tangle of limbs to a rocky, barren, knoll. He gasped as he saw what was below them.

It was the city, the entire city spread out below them, buildings and streets like tiny bugs below the grandeur of the mountains. The storm clouds were moving in, obscuring the far side of the city, and lights were beginning to flicker on, like tiny fires set to ward away the gathering darkness.

He'd seen cities from afar before, of course. He'd probably seen a thousand from above like this. But the sight had never struck him as quite so fragile and tenuous as it did tonight.

"This is my favorite spot in the city," Cassia said. "I come up here, and, aside from being really peaceful and pretty, it reminds me of how small I am. And of the fact that none of my problems—or anyone else's—really matter that much, in the scheme of things."

He nodded, remaining silent.

About ten minutes later, he spoke, keeping his eyes on the distant horizon.

"So what's with your mom?"

She stiffened, and he immediately regretted asking. After about a minute of silence, she finally spoke.

"Before my dad died, she was a pretty successful architect here in the city. She did a lot of stuff with fixing up older neighborhoods, or improving subdivisions to make them sustainable or whatever. She was super popular. I mean, seriously. But then, when my dad died, it was like she just shut down. For an entire year, she was just dead. She didn't do anything with her work, she just sat in my dad's office and cried. That was exactly what I _wanted_ to do, but I couldn't, because suddenly I had to take care of her and myself. I guess I never got a mourning period for him. Which is kinda sad, you know.

"But anyway. Just about a year after he died, she walked into the kitchen and was just like, 'I'm gonna be big again, Cassia. Sorry I abandoned you.' And then she walked out of the kitchen and up to her own office. Metaphorically, that's where she walked right back out of my life.

"And she did get 'big' again. She took her old firm and renamed it and got into development—worldwide development. Now, she builds and develops in places that other companies salivate over, but can't get their hands on. She's an expert at circumventing stuff like environmental protection and previous property ownership. I mean, she's built private homes inside the borders of _national parks_. It's disgusting.

"Anyway, she's got offices in L.A. and San Francisco, New York, Miami, London…um…Honolulu…Barcelona, Tokyo, Paris. They're getting ready to open one in Sydney, too. And she's got a different boyfriend in each city, so I guess she never really needs to come home."

She looked incredibly sad, staring off into the distance with sightless eyes. He had the sudden urge to hug her, but he stayed still and silent, waiting for her to continue.

"She's been in Sydney for most of the last two months, but now she's in L.A. She said she'll be back for Christmas, but that's what she said last year, too, and she wasn't. I mean, she comes home barely often enough to be counted as my legal guardian. Basically, she gives me enough money to deal with shit, and then I'm on my own."

She stopped talking. He waited for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry. It must be difficult. It makes a lot more sense now, though. I couldn't figure out what was going on."

She smiled weakly. "Well, there you have it. Dysfunction to the max. Sure makes things easier for us in these circumstances, though."

He chuckled slightly. "I guess."

They were silent for a few more moments. Then Cassia asked, "So how are you feeling?"

"What?"

"How are you feeling? You got beaten up bad enough to be stuck in the hospital two days ago, and now you're acting like nothing happened."

He grinned. "Don't worry about me. I'm pretty used to that sort of thing. I can hardly feel anything."

"What do you mean, you're 'used' to that sort of thing?"

"Come on, Cassia. I've basically been travelling from war to war for last 100 years. I've had worse. Much worse. You should have seen me after World War I."

"From that tone of voice, I can bet that it was a pretty sight."

"Yup. Almost lost my leg. But I didn't, so that's okay."

She stared at him for a moment, then simply shook her head.

"What?"

"Just…you. You're pretty damn weird."

"What'd you expect? Aside from the fact that I've been alive for more than a century…there's all the other stuff on top of that."

"I know."

Silence again, as they both stared off into the distance, watching the lights of the city fade and blur under the storm clouds.

"Well, well, well. What a cute little couple we have here."

He knew that voice. His blood ran cold.

_Darkness and blood and dead comrades and a knife and voices in his ears and an ace of spades, that's the card that would show up in his dreams always, with its ink melting off of it like lifeblood flowing from an ugly wound. Running blank, as though it had never existed at all._

"What the hell?" Cassia's voice.

He turned slowly, the air feeling like lead around him, and there she was.

Rhode Camelot.

She smiled at him, grin feral and toothy, and purred, "Well, hello little Bookman. Ready for a game?"

His hand immediately went to his hammer, its weight feeling balanced and comfortable in his hands, like an old friend returned.

"Never," he growled, surprised at the strength in his voice, when inside he was quaking.

She giggled lightly. "You don't wanna attack me yet, Bookman. I'm not feeling too murderous today. I'm not here 'cause of the Earl."

"So why, then?"

She grinned again. God, how he hated that smile, that giggle, burned into his brain and ears still, even after all these years. She'd never leave his mind.

"I was talking a walk."

"Like hell you were," he growled, and he felt his hammer shift and grow in his hands, though he hadn't said a thing to stimulate it. Had he reached a higher synch rate?

"Ooohhhh. Showing off now, are we?" She stepped closer. "Are they calling you Lavi again? That's a pity. I feel as though I get along better with _Deak_."

He lunged, but he didn't reach her because Cassia was in front of him, blocking his way and holding his wrist with a firm grip. "Stop it. I still don't know who this is." She turned to Rhode. "You _look_ suspiciously like Mark Evanston's daughter. But something tells me you aren't—or, at the very least, you're more than just that."

Rhode giggled again. "Oh! You're the new girl! You'll be so fun to play with. _Of course_ I'm Mark Evanston's daughter. I'm also Sheryl's sometimes. All to keep up appearances, of course. Usually I'm just Rhode. Rhode Camelot. The First Noah." She held out her hand and Cassia reached out to shake, but Rhode stopped her with a tinkly laugh. "Not that hand! That's your Innocence hand. You could hurt me."

Cassia obligingly switched hands, and Lavi's mouth dropped open in shock. "Cassia, you're not supposed to be _polite_. She's a fucking _Noah._"

"Yeah, well, I don't even know her yet. We could be bros. At any rate, no use fighting right now. I'm too tired to even _think_, let alone fight, and I've got school tomorrow. I don't want to exhaust myself. Or get myself killed, much. Don't you agree?"

Rhode looked taken-aback, but she nodded. "I want to play with him soon, but I suppose my Lord Millennium would be displeased if I attacked without his permission. He wants to be careful at first." She winked.

He couldn't believe it. Was Cassia actually believing this act? "Cassia," he said. "She's a _Noah_. She's lying. Her primary goal is to kill you, me, and everyone like us. _What are you doing?_"

"Shut up, Lavi."

"Yeah, _Lavi_," said the Noah girl, slipping over to sit on a rock. "Shut up."

She swung her feet and grinned at nothing as they watched her. Then, abruptly, she spoke. "I want to be a genie. Yes! That's what I'll be! I'll grant you three wishes. Or, rather, I'll answer three questions. Okay? But then I've gotta go, and when I do I'll need to tell the others I saw you. So, if you value you're life, you'll ask, I'll answer, and you'll scram." She laughed, pressing her finger to her mouth as though she were holding in a thousand secrets.

Lavi lowered his hammer slightly to look at her. "What do you mean, three questions?"

She looked back, and this time her face was serious. "Just what I said. You have many questions, both of you. I am a Noah, so I have more answers than you do. I enjoy playing with you, and it won't hurt me to tell you a few things. So pick three of your questions and _ask_."

"Are you insane? You're just gonna lie. Or, better yet, you're distracting us while some of your lovely family members are sneaking up from behind…"

"I've got a question," Cassia interrupted. "Why the fuck are all these random people from the 19th century showing up and asking to stay in my house?"

Rhode smiled brightly.

"There's a good question. And a nicely worded one, too. I'll be forced to give a lot of information, yet still only call it one question. I like you. You know how to play my games. But I'll still beat you in the end…you'll see.

"It wasn't over. You all thought it was over, so you disbanded your order and left your Innocence and went off to find something else to live for. Except it wasn't over. You were awfully stupid to think it was. I suppose we could say that the exorcists won that battle—if you can call it 'won', with that amount of damage—but you were still losing the war. Still are, in fact. All we needed was a little time, and then we'd be back, because that's how we operate. You petty humans don't do as well."

Her eyes cut to Lavi. "Except for Bookmen. They hold up pretty well over the years. So that's where you came in. You were the catalyst for the reaction, which means you, unfortunately, had to be kept alive."

"What do you mean, 'had to be kept alive'? I almost died! I was in a coma for two weeks afterwards! They said I almost did die."

She regarded him coldly. "You really think that you were a match for Tyki, little Bookman? He could have killed you a dozen times within the first moments of your battle, but he didn't, did he? The Earl told him to spare you, and your grandpa, too, although that didn't do any good in the long run. Couldn't have foreseen him biting the dust. But whatever. You were enough.

"Like I said, you're the catalyst. When we grew strong enough, we came back, but we had to draw the Vatican's attention back to us, and it takes a lot to get the attention of those idiots. That's what the attack on you did. It created the first major spike in Innocence levels in the last century—and it was enough. They brought them back. To fight. As though you have a change in winning against us this time." She gave a short laugh, then pulled a lollipop out of her pocket and began to suck noisily on it, a contented smile on her face.

"So, to fully answer your question, I suppose all those 'random people' showing up at your house and sleeping there are there because we want them to be. And there's nothing you can do about it. Isn't it great? I love how powerless you are…"

"That's impossible," said Lavi. His voice would have sounded angry, were it not for the shaking tones that belayed great sorrow. "You say the Vatican brought them back. That's insane. Completely. I saw them dead. _I fucking saw them all dead_, and the ones here now are definitely not zombies. They can't be here…they can't be here, alive, when I saw them die."

Rhode crunched her lollipop and held up two fingers. "That's your second question. And I'm sorry to say it, little Bookman, but I don't have the answer on this one. All I can say is, did you see them buried? Or cremated, or whatever idiotic thing you exorcists do to your dead?"

"I just told you," he snarled. "I watched them die. I held Allen's hand and listened as he took his last breath. _I saw them." _ His voice was quiet, but his fists were shaking, trembling uncontrollably, giving away his anger.

"That's not what I asked," said Rhode calmly. "Did you see them burned or buried in the ground? Did you see them put to rest?"

He honestly had to think about it for a moment, the memories of that time being so painful that he'd been forced to block them out over the years in order to stop himself from shattering.

"I…I remember…no, I didn't see it, I wasn't there. I couldn't be. I was in a coma when they did it, because of your brother's lovely work. They'd already held the funerals for everyone by the time I woke up. I saw their graves, though, and the overturned earth was new."

"They're good with their tricks, aren't they? But you never saw their bodies put to rest. You'd have thought the Vatican would have granted them peace and rest after all they did. But no. See how cruel your Order was? They didn't let them rest. They just put them away for later, to be brought out again when the time came. I bet they didn't tell you about the prophecy, the last one that creepy old exorcist gave before she finally died from the wounds we gave her. "Don't let them go," she said. "They'll be back. It isn't over." Of course, no one really believed her, but better safe then sorry, and what did it matter if the exorcists didn't get to rest? They were only soldiers after all. Of course, I'm just speculating. You'll have to ask the Vatican if you want the whole story."

He stumbled away from her and leaned against a rock, the material cool and grainy against his suddenly hot skin. Was she saying…was she saying that the Vatican had _kept_ them? Kept them for a hundred years and then, somehow…_brought them back to life?_ Returned them, without their memories, only their Innocences, back to the world, back to him? How…no. He couldn't think of _how_, it would only make it worse. They had been dead, he was sure of that fact, but now they were alive and here, and he could at least be happy with that much. Couldn't he?

Cassia was speaking again, but it was hazy in his ears. He didn't want to think…didn't want to think about what had been done to them, what must have happened for them to be here again.

A voice tickled in the back of his head and giggled at him. "You sad, Bookman? You confused? I'm sorry…we could play a little game to get your mind off of things…you could leave this world and come to mine…" An image flashed through his head, a pile of bodies, his friends the way they looked that last day, bloody and broken and utterly beaten. He was staring right at Lenalee, her eyes slightly open and vacant, glazed with blood. Abruptly, they opened all the way and focused on him.

"Lavi," she whispered, blood dribbling out the side of her mouth. "You didn't save me then, and you can't save me now. I was so tired…"

"No," he whispered. "Not again, please." Looking around, he could only see the darkness of Rhode's dream world, nothing of the mountaintop or the lights of the city. Just darkness and death.

Allen was there, looking just as he had that last night, crumpled and small. He, too spoke. "Come find me, Lavi. Come find me, and then let me leave…please, just let it end…"

He shied away from Allen's pleading tone, backing up until his back hit a wall that hadn't been there before. He slide down it and put his head in his hands. He had to think. He wasn't in reality here, it was only his mind…if he could just make his mind go back to reality…

A voice behind him, dark and angry, and the smell of blood, strong in his nostrils. He turned. Yuu stood there, suspended like a puppet controlled by an unseen master, and lurched toward him, strong hands closing around his throat. Lavi choked, unprepared, and tried to lift his hands to pry off Yuu's, but he couldn't move, and the air was like lead, and all there was in the world was Yuu's angry voice saying, "You were the one who killed me, Lavi. If I hadn't saved you, my petals wouldn't have run out. It's your fault…and here I am again. I've never just been able to die…"

He was choking, black spots dancing across his vision, and in the background he could hear Rhode's voice, laughing cruelly, and he could feel tears running down his cheeks.

He stopped trying to fight and let himself go. He deserved it, he knew. It _was_ all his fault, wasn't it? Especially Yuu's death, but the others' too. They'd died, and he'd lived on, and where was the fairness in that? He should have died by their sides. And now he could…now he could be gone….

* * *

><p>"So what I don't get," said Cassia, "is why do you even <em>want<em> the exorcists back? I mean, wouldn't world domination or whatever it is you want be a lot easier to achieve without them fighting against you?"

Rhode grinned again and held up three fingers. "Third question. And yes, you're absolutely right. It would be easier for us if you weren't interfering. But really, you all aren't much trouble for us. Mostly, the Earl wanted to bring you back because he wanted to drive in _just how_ weak you are. Also, to lots of humans, you represent hope, or at least you did a century ago. The fact that you could fight against us and our army, even in the feeblest ways, gave them hope that we were _not _all-powerful. Of course, it was a false hope, but it was something. Now…well, we want to see that hope leave them. We will crush you, and then they all will be even easier to crush. What a delight it will be to play _this _game. Even better than last time, once the rest of them return. Especially Allen…" her voice turned almost to a croon, and she clasped her hands in front of her, staring off into the distance. "How I've missed playing with my Allen…oh, my Allen."

"Right," said Cassia. "That's another thing. Everyone just keeps talking about this Allen guy. Who is he? Is he gonna be back, too? 'Cause I'm running out of beds."

Rhode jumped up to stand in front of her, flicking her now bare lollipop stick off into the underbrush, which sent a stab of anger through Cassia. She hated litterers.

"Unfortunately, that's four questions. And I have to go. So I really shouldn't answer it…but I will. The truth is, I don't know. Of course, if he doesn't come back, I'll go in and kill all those bastards at the Vatican in the most painful way possible as punishment for not bringing my Allen back for one more game. But if they brought back that long haired girl-man and the little slut who wants my Allen, then they'll bring him back too."

"When?"

Rhode shrugged, then held out her hand. A garishly colored umbrella appeared out of nowhere, and she waved it above her head. "Ask the Vatican! I've gotta go, I feel the Earl calling, right Lero?"

"Yes!" squawked the umbrella, and Cassia jumped as she realized the pumpkin shaped top was talking. "Hurry up~lero!"

"You'll want to leave now, unless you want to have some Akuma action. You did say you didn't want to fight, so off you go…oh." She looked at something behind Cassia and frowned slightly. "I suppose I'll have to let him go a little early...but I guess it's for the best. Wouldn't want him to die too early in the game, now would we?" She snapped her fingers, and Cassia heard a strangled gasp behind her. She turned.

Lavi was on the ground, curled in the fetal position against a rock. When had he gotten there? His hands were clutched around his throat and he was gasping as though he'd been under water for a long period of time.

She started toward him, concerned, but then turned back, wanting an explanation from Rhode. She'd said something about 'letting him go'. Had she done this?

But the girl was gone, no trace of her anywhere, not even footprints in the dry, long grass.

"What the hell," Cassia muttered. That girl was apparently one of the enemy, but she hadn't seemed particularly threatening. A bit odd, yes, and a bit too excited about the idea of killing people, but not…scary.

Sighing, she turned back to Lavi, who was now gasping in great lungfulls of air, tears leaking from his eye.

"You okay?" After she said it, she berated herself. Of course he wasn't okay. That much, at least, was very obvious.

"I…" he tried to speak but instead coughed, his voice dry and rough. "I was…she took me in…she has a world that she creates…in a dream, and I was in it again…and they were all there and telling me it was my fault, and my god, it was. All my fault…" He trailed away and hid his face in his hands, curling in on himself further.

She didn't quite know what to do. He was the picture of sorrow and pain, and she'd never been any good at comforting. She sat down next to him and tried to formulate something to say.

"It wasn't your fault," she began. Immediately, he interrupted. "It was. At least, Yuu's death was. But the others, too. I could have saved them, or at least I could have done more to help them. But I was thinking as a Bookman, thinking of my own survival first. I was never as invested in the idea of comrade as I should have been. Comrade means you help. Comrade means you'd save them before you would yourself."

"Exactly. And Kanda saw you as a comrade. He saved you for that reason. That's not your fault. And from the sounds of it, you were fighting one of the most dangerous Noah the entire time. If you were keeping him occupied, you kept him from killing dozens of others."

"Apparently he was just playing with me, though. Could have killed me in a second, if he hadn't been instructed to spare me…like I was some useless, helpless, weak civilian!" He slammed his fist into the ground and sat up straight. "It was all for nothing, and now they're back and it'll be all for nothing again."

"If you're thinking like that, you might as well kill yourself now rather than suffer through it. Look, there's a convenient cliff right there. Off you go."

He looked at her like she was completely insane. "What?"

"If it's all for nothing, then you're of no use. You might as well end it now before it gets too painful."

"I…can't."

"Why not?"

"Well…I have to try…I guess. I can't just do nothing."

"Exactly." She stood, and offered him a hand, drawing him up to stand beside her. "We have to try, and that's all we can do. Even if we think we'll fail, we still have to try. Try to save what's out there." She gestured out at the city and the mountains, the millions of people and the lights and the stars. "I don't want to just let it go, do you?"

"No," he whispered.

They stood in silence for another few minutes before she spoke again. "We should go. Rhode said Akuma would be coming, and I don't want to be here when they do."

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. "I can feel them already. They're on their way."

"Then come on."

* * *

><p>They arrived back at Cassia's house with no further problem. It seemed as though the Akuma hadn't followed them, which was a relief, because Cassia felt as though her body was weighted down with lead bricks, and her wrist was once again throbbing painfully, despite the fact that her Innocence was inactive.<p>

When they walked in the door, they were greated with loud voices shouting. Frida and Kanda were having a yelling match, and Lenalee was sitting on the couch, legs drawn up and hands over her ears, muttering Allen's name over and over again like a mantra.

"Shut up!" yelled Cassia. "You're giving me a headache. What the hell's the matter?"

"He," said Frida, pointing a finger accusingly at Kanda, "wants me to go cook him goddamn soba for him because, and I quote, 'you're the woman here.' Tell him to go to hell, Cassia. I am _not_ cooking for him, especially not now."

"Like I said before," Cassia told Kanda. "This is the 21st century. We're not cooking for you. Besides, none of us know how to cook soba. You're on your own here. But before you go, we need to talk."

Lavi cleared his throat. "We just had a talk with Rhode Camelot."

Kanda jumped at the words, staring at Lavi as though he had sprouted a second head. "What do you mean you had a talk with her? Did you see her? Did you fight her? Goddamn it, you stupid rabbit, you should have killed her."

Lavi rounded on him, anger clear in his features. "As you would know, Yuu, Rhode's a bit hard to kill. Besides, she told us some useful information."

"_Che_. Useful information, my ass. All lies, of course. She's a Noah."

"No, it really was," Cassia interjected. "She explained some things, and now stuff makes a lot more sense. Or at least a little more sense. You didn't beat them in that final battle, that much is obvious. You only weakened them all, and they had to wait for a bit…but now they're back and they want to beat the Innocence for good. So that's why you all are back. And she thinks Allen's back, too, though she says she's not sure. She thinks he's at the Vatican…they're the one's who did all this."

Lenalee jumped to her feet and moved over to Cassia, eyes pleading. "She says…she knows where Allen is?"

"Well, she says that, but we're not really sure if we can trust her…"

"Of course we can't trust her," said Kanda angrily. "If these _bakas_ here hadn't believed her stories of answering their questions and just _killed _her, we'd be better off right now."

"There wasn't exactly a chance to do that…she's quick, and besides, I don't think my Innocence can do much else today. I wore it out this morning."

"Bullshit," said Kanda. "You could have tried."

Lavi pushed passed her and got right into Kanda's face. "You know what she did to me, _Kanda?_" The use of his surname caused the dark-haired man to flinch and step back slightly. "She brought me back into her dream world. I saw you all there, telling me it was my fault, telling me you just wanted to die, to rest. You strangled me. Look." He pulled back his collar and bared his neck to Kanda. Blue-black bruises were sprouting on the pale skin, the exact shape and size of Kanda's long fingers. He stepped back further. "I…"

"Stop it," Lenalee said, her voice surprisingly forceful. "We can't think about what did or didn't happen with this Rhode person. We need to focus on the fact that she knows where Allen may be. The Vatican. I don't know where or what that is, but I assume you do. We have to find out if he's actually there, and if he is we have to get him out. I _need _him. I…I won't be able to last very long here without him."

Cassia stared at her, uncomprehending. "What do you mean…you mean you'll _die_?"

"I don't know." Lenalee shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "Bad things…bad things will happen. I know it. He needs to be here. He needs to be here _now_."

"Okay, listen," said Cassia. "We'll try and find out where he is. I'll get Sam to help, he's a genius with finding info that he shouldn't be able to find. We'll try and figure it out, and then we'll give him a week. If this Allen guy doesn't show up like you two did within the week, then we'll try to find him."

"It needs to be faster than that," said Lenalee forcefully. "We don't have a week."

"We have to have a week," said Cassia, a note of finality in her voice. "I can't leave school near the end of a quarter like this. This Friday's the end of the quarter, and then it's winter break. If we need to go somewhere then, we can. But it might take awhile to figure out exactly what's going on, anyway."

"But—"

"Sorry. But that's what's going to happen. If we rush with this, or make stupid decisions, it'll only make things worse. We've gotta keep our heads about us and think things through, do our research and be sure of every move we make. That's the only way we can win in this situation."

"I agree with Cassia," said Lavi after a long silence. "The Noah are strong, even stronger then they were last time. We have to be careful. We _will_ find Allen, but we need to be systematic about it and think it through. At this point, we still don't know if the Vatican's our friend or not. We don't know if any vestiges of the Order exist. We don't know if there are pieces of Innocence just floating around like there were a hundred years ago, or if they're all in the same place. We've gotta know this stuff before we make a move."

Kanda grunted in agreement, then stalked off toward the kitchen to make his soba. Frida nodded as well, saying that she would help in any way she could. That left only Lenalee, still tearful, staring at the wall as though it held all the answers. Lavi sat next to her and put a cautious arm around her shoulders.

"Come on Lena-lady," he said softly, using his old nickname for her. Speaking those words brought a lump to his throat. "Cheer up. We'll find him. We're better off now that we were a few hours ago. We all want him back. And we'll get him back. I promise."

Slowly she raised her eyes to his. After a moment, she nodded.

"I…you…your voice. I remember it…calling me that name."

His heart leapt. "Really?"

She nodded and smiled softly. "I like it."

"Then I'll keep calling you that, Lena-lady."

She leaned back into his arm, slightly more relaxed, though a small tear slid from her eyes periodically, and he allowed himself a small smile. Things may suck, but at least he had Lenalee back, and she wasn't blaming him for anything. Nor was Yuu. It wasn't his fault. They'd all been thrown back into this situation against there will, and there wasn't anything to be done about it. They'd just have to try, and hope for the best.

* * *

><p><strong>Eww, I really don't like how this chapter turned out.<strong>

**Sorry for the long wait…it's AP/IB testing season, so don't expect me to update again for awhile. I'm busy **_teaching myself the curriculum of all the classes I didn't pay attention in _**studying for all the tests.**

**Please review. They are like life rafts, buoying me through the insanely turbulent waters of the coming test weeks.**

**Also, is anyone else forced to deal with html format while editing on fanfiction? God, it's so annoying. It won't let me put in page breaks anymore ( I tried, but I bet they'll be super messed up). DEATH.**


	14. Chapter 14

Monday morning. Too early. English class. Sam's head was buried in his arms so thoroughly that only his wild black hair and a single hand emerging to grip a coffee cup were visible.

It took Cassia three tries to wake him, and when she finally did, he was visibly annoyed.

"What do you want? It's Monday. I don't talk to people on Mondays."

"Can you hack into stuff?"

"What? Yeah. Of course."

"Stuff like…" she lowered her voice slightly, though she doubted anyone would care about what they were talking about, even if they heard. "You know, secret stuff. Like…CIA. MI-5…the Vatican?"

"The Vatican? That's not secret. That's like, Jesus."

"Yeah, but…yeah."

He sighed, rubbing his hand tiredly over his face. "It's all the same basic strategy. If you want me to hack into something, I will. Okay? Now go away."

"After school today," she said to his head, buried once more in his arms. "Meet me at the locker. I'll give you a ride." She waited for his grunt of assent, then moved back to her own seat.

Lavi came in a few minutes later, slipping into the seat behind her. She turned to face him. "Did you get it?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But it all barely fit in your locker. You've got a lot of…er…stuff in there."

She laughed. He'd gone back to wherever he'd been staying that morning to get most of his stuff, deciding to stay with the rest of them at Cassia's overcrowded place. She'd told him to stuff whatever he brought back into the locker she shared with Frida and Sam, but she'd forgotten that the sheer amount of refuse from the school year that were collecting in there might have made it difficult for him. "Yeah…sorry about that."

"It's fine. Just a bit, you know…gross."

"Whatever. Where else would we put the refuse of a school year?"

"The garbage can?"

"Too lazy. Besides—"

"Cassia Marston!" came a sharp voice from the front of the room. "Care to lend your attention to this discussion of the great literary voice of Kate Chopin?"

She blushed slightly and turned away as Lavi chuckled. "Er…yeah. Kate Chopin. Love her."

And so began the day, never ending and monotonous, as school days tend to be. And when it at last came time to go home, all Cassia wanted to do was bury herself in a mound of blankets and sleep, but she couldn't. Because they had to find this Allen guy.

She drove home and sat dull-eyed and spaced out on the couch as Sam sat in front of the computer, cracking his knuckles and muttering to himself like a madman. The others were all gathered around him, watching him do his work, waiting for him to find something, but she couldn't make herself pay attention, so instead she remained slumped on the couch and daydreamed.

Her wrist was tingling and voices were whispering in the back of her head, just loud enough for them to be annoying, not for her to actually understand what they were saying. She buried her head under a pillow and closed her eyes, and when that didn't work, she stuffed in her earbuds and turned Audioslave up to full blast. Even that didn't do the trick. The voices persisted. Or maybe it was just one voice…one very talkative voice...but then there were two again…two distinct sounds, different tones, different emphasis. One was slightly louder, more insistent. More annoying. She wanted it to shut up so she could hear the other one. The other one was softer, weaker somehow, almost pleading, only a hint in the background, but different for sure.

She could almost make out what the insistent one was saying…

"…_why aren't you listening? To me or to him? Activate me! Otherwise I can't…help…I can help…"_

The other voice was speaking at a higher pitch now, sounding almost hysterical. But she still couldn't hear it, because…

"_Heloooo….anything getting through here? Trying to help. You know, just trying to be of use. Be cool if you actually accepted my being here, then all this wouldn't be such a big problem now, would it?"_

"Shut up!" she said, quite loudly.

"Uh…Cassia?" she heard the questioning voice of Sam through the music. Pulling out her headphones, she emerged from beneath her pillow and staggered to her feet.

"No big deal, guys. Just some voices in my head. You know, totally normal. I'm gonna go get a glass of water."

They all stared at her as she walked out of the room to the kitchen. She thought that perhaps one of them might follow her, but moments later she heard their conversation around the computer start up again. She felt suddenly, profoundly, lonely.

"_Well, if you'd just listen to me, you wouldn't feel that way."_

"_What. The. Hell."_ She thought back to herself as clearly as she could.

"_Activate me," _it whispered.

Her Innocence. It had to be that. A disturbing thought. Lavi hadn't said anything about his or anyone else's Innocence talking to them in their minds. As far as she understood, they were nothing more than types of energy—sources of power—not free thinking beings.

"_I know," _it whispered. "_But everyone—and every piece of Innocence—is different. We're special, you and I together. So open up to me and _activate!_"_

Fine, then.

It didn't take anything more than the simple thought of "activate" for the wreath of subtle metallic flames to spring up around her wrist. Surprisingly, instead of feeling a drain on her energy, she felt a sort of release, as though she'd been holding something wild back that desperately wanted to be free. The headache building between her brows disappeared and she breathed a sigh of relief as the prickling in her wrist faded.

"_There. You see?"_ The voice was much clearer now, almost as if someone was standing next to her speaking. The problem was, there wasn't anyone, which meant that she was indeed hearing voices in her head. Never a good sign.

"_I wouldn't view it as a problem. Now I can help you."_

"How?"

"_Listen,"_ it whispered, finally quiet. Ad at last, she could hear the second voice.

"_Help,"_ it whispered weakly, voice broken and utterly confused. _"Please…I don't…I don't understand what they want…please…help me."_

"What the hell?" she said, clutching her head. The voice was young, male. He sounded like he was begging. As though someone was hurting him…

"_No! Please! I…I don't know…fourteenth! I don't know! Please! Stop!"_ It broke off into a moan, pain-filled and tired.

"_Don't…don't even know who I am…please…I don't…I can't…where is she? That's all there is…long black hair. Please…"_

"Stop!" she said, banging her head firmly against the cool surface of the fridge door. "What…who is that?"

Her Innocence's voice, infinitely preferable to that of the boy, answered. _"That is who you seek."_

"Be clear! Quit speaking in riddles!"

Now it sounded annoyed. _"I'm not speaking in riddles. Who are you seeking? Who are they all seeking?"_

Realization dawned on her. "That Allen guy…"

The flames twisted and crackled slightly in an odd representation of applause. "_She got it!"_

"Wait…wait…it sounded like he was being hurt…and he wasn't remembering anything, just like the rest of them. Where is he? It doesn't help much if we don't know where to look for him. And why the _hell_ can I hear him in my head?"

"_His Innocence and myself are very similar…brethren, you could call us. It allows for a connection. As for where he is, why don't you just ask?"_

"How?"

"_I've just said. I can connect with his Innocence, and therefore his mind."_

"What? How do I…"

"_Just bloody _ask_. Good God, you're rather dense, aren't you?"_

"Hey! Uh…no. Uh, connect with that guy's Innocence. Please."

"_Gladly. This might drain your energy a bit."_

Prickling at her wrist again. She looked down and saw that the bracelet was unraveling. Unraveling endlessly, a long, sinuous strand of fire reaching towards the window, towards open air…

…and when it reached it, it shot forward so fast that she followed, crying out and slamming into the cabinets, feeling as though her insides were unraveling right along with the bracelet. She stared in awe as the string disappeared into the cold blue sky, the only sign that it was still attached to her being the thin spider web-like strand, flickering softly with minuscule flames.

"What—" she gasped.

"_It will reach out and search for his Innocence, then connect with it. Then you will be able to communicate directly with him. Convenient strategy, eh? Of course, he'll probably just think he's going insane, but he might still be able to give you some useful information."_

She waited, listening. And, as the Innocence had said, his voice was suddenly loud in her ears, rather than faint. Still begging, though. Still crying.

"How do I—"

"_Just think it." _Her Innocence's voice was the quiet one now.

_Are you…Allen?_

_I don't know…please…stop asking, I can't…_

_It's okay,_ she thought. _I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just trying to help. Do you know where you are?_

_White room…men in black. And red. I think it's from me. White, black, and red…_

_You have no idea where you are?_

_The Order…they say "in the name of the Order" a lot…_

And then there was another scream, and she herself felt an awful twinge of pain in her abdomen and she winced, pulling away. The connection snapped and she slid panting to the floor. At the same time, she heard, distantly, Sam shouting, "I'm in!"

"Damn," she muttered. "I'm too tired now…to even get up." She leaned her head against one of the cabinets and sighed.

"_Oh, shut up."_ Her Innocence's voice was clear now, and annoyed. _"I didn't drain that much outta you. You were only talking to him for, like, three seconds."_

She growled in annoyance, but managed to hook her hand around the top of the counter and heave herself to her feet, steadfastly ignoring the throbbing in her head and wrist. Leaning on walls, she made it back to the living room. No one looked up as she entered, all of their eyes glued to the computer screen, which was emitting tinny noises, suggesting that Sam had found some sort of video or audio file. She sat behind them and peered over Kanda's head for a look at the screen.

There were two men, staring seriously into the camera. One was balding and had an odd mustache, almost reminiscent of Hitler's. The other was much younger, with tousled, longish blond hair. He would have been handsome were it not for the scowl on his face. The older one was speaking.

"As you know, we have initiated Project MCL and we have recently received indications that it was a complete success in the cases of KY and LL. Both the ML and AK attempts failed. AW attempt was a partial success, however, due to the probable presence of a Noah in this subject, it has been deemed unwise to release him without…examining him properly. Thus, he will be sent over to the jurisdiction of your department. You have the authority to utilize whatever means necessary to get that thing in him talking. We believe it is still present, and, as your department has more experience dealing directly with Noah, we feel as though you have the best chance of getting answers. As I said, do what you will. He will be securely transported to your base of operations at 09:00 tomorrow. Thank you."

The screen went black. Everyone was silent for a moment.

"Well, it's pretty obvious what that was about. All those initials. They must be trying to code it or something, the idiots. It's completely obvious. Yuu and Lena-lady were a success. Miranda and Krory…weren't, I guess. They didn't say anything about the others. Allen was a success, but something went wrong, and they're keeping him because they think the 14th is still around."

"What does any of that mean?" asked Lenalee tearfully.

"I'm askin' the same question," Sam muttered.

"It means," said Lavi coldly, "that your Allen is currently being held in custody at Central Operations of the Black Order, which apparently does indeed still exist, and he is most likely being tortured right now for information about a Noah who may or may not be inside his head. Also, he probably doesn't remember anything at all."

"Oh, no," Lenalee whispered, turning back to Sam. "Make that thing do magic again," she said, pointing at the computer screen. "You have to find more information!"

"Okay, okay," Sam muttered, typing away.

"I just talked to him in my head," Cassia announced. All four turned to look at her,

"Talked to who?" Lavi asked.

"Allen."

"Did you not sleep last night or something? Did you smoke some pot after school? What the hell are you talking about?"

"My Innocence keeps talking to me in my head, and there was this other voice in the background, but I couldn't hear it clearly. And then it—my Innocence—was like, 'Oh, yeah, Allen's Innocence and I are like exactly the same thing! So a fun side effect of that is you get to hear him scream in pain in the back of your brain!' And then it decided to, like, _connect_ me with him. And I'd say that he's definitely at the Order, definitely doesn't know who he is, and is definitely being tortured. So we should probably figure out a way to go find him sooner than a week from now. And that's my story. God, my head hurts."

"What the fuck." That, predictably, was from Kanda.

"You know what would be cool," said Sam, "Is if I had any fucking idea about anything you guys are talking about."

"He's being tortured?" Asked Lenalee. "Oh my God, he's screaming? He's at the Order? We have to get him! Now! I need him here!"

"I've never heard of Innocence connecting—nor of any having a separate personality, other than Timothy's—are you sure?"

"Lavi, I have three different voices talking in my head right now. _Yes, I'm sure._"

He held up his hands. "Sorry. Okay. I believe you. It's just…where to go from here? Sam, keep looking for info. Anything you can find could help us."

"Yeah, yeah…I am. Just…will _somebody_ please tell me what's going on?"

"Okay," said Lavi. "Here's the short version: there's these evil guys who want to take over the world and destroy it. They're called the Noah. And there's this weapon that can fight against them called Innocence. A hundred and twenty-ish years ago, we thought we'd defeated the Noah, but we didn't. So it's all happening again. Oh, and I'm 142 years old, and these two have been dead for the last 120 years and were recently brought back to life or something. Does that clear things up for you?"

"Nope," Sam grumbled. "But you know what? I think I'll just go with it." He turned back to the computer and started running pass codes again.

Cassia slumped down until she was lying on the couch again. Her headache pounded away, and the voices chattered…"Shut up," she growled.

"_You're not very nice,_" said her Innocence.

"I just want to sleep. Then I'll be nice."

"_Promise?"_

"Please?"

To her surprise, the mutterings did indeed cease, or perhaps not cease as much as fade into the deep background of her mind, mixing with other soft noises and becoming suddenly, perversely, comforting.

She slept.

* * *

><p>If he'd thought things had been complicated a century ago, everything about that time paled in comparison to what was going on now. The Innocence, letting people communicate through their minds, lost memories, a total of—what, four exorcists? Allen being tortured…not to mention his friends, back from the dead somehow…he didn't want to think how that could have been achieved. His Bookman brain had catalogued many supposed methods for bringing back the dead, but he never thought he'd be faced with one actually put to use, nor could be fathom <em>which <em>method the Order had used.

But he didn't want to focus on that, because he had better things to think about. Like how they were going to get Allen out of that mess, and then how they were going to figure out if the 14th really _was_ still inside him without torturing the boy to death. He didn't particularly feel like contemplating this, but it was infinitely more manageable than wondering what in the world Central was up to.

He looked over to Cassia, who was snoring with her head buried in the pillows of the couch. She…able to communicate with Allen via their Innocence? He'd never heard of anything like that. And then his mind went back to that weird Leverrier look-alike who'd said…what?

"_The AW attempt was a partial success._"

A partial success.

What did that mean?

"_That Allen guy's Innocence and mine are like exactly the same thing._"

He quickly put two and two together, but the conclusion he came to was so completely absurd…he couldn't fathom it being true. He didn't _want _it to be true, because it would really put a damper on their chances if it were. It would turn on its head everything he'd thought to be true or possible.

It was clear that he would have to start from the beginning. His mind was already racing. But the others were talking and Cassia was snoring, and he needed quiet. So he left and went to the quietest place he could think of—the library room, where the loudest noise was the purring of that cat that never seemed to leave.

He rested his head against the window and set his thoughts free. They came, crashing over him like the waves of a storming ocean, yet not overpowering him. They were his, after all, his knowledge and memories. He knew how to control them, though they may have driven any lesser man insane.

So then. First of all. How had Central done it? Cold preservation was the most realistic possibility, though it still seemed pretty far-fetched. He knew it was possible, certainly. He had even seen it done. Organs and tissues were kept at freezing temperatures and pumped full of certain chemicals that kept them in working order, so that, in theory, a body, or the parts of a body, could be brought back to life with few ill effects. Mostly, it was done so organs could be kept fresh for transfer into other bodies. But sometimes—in just a few instances—bodies really were brought back to life. A shot of adrenaline or other chemicals, or a jolt of electricity could do it, but only, at the very, _very_ most, a day after death. Rarely even then. Organs could be kept fresh for weeks, sometimes even up to a month…but a whole body, for years? Decades? _Centuries?_ It seemed impossible. Hell, it _was _impossible. But that was only because he'd never seen or heard of it done, and even a Bookman's knowledge was not infinite. Which meant that it was possible—very much so. Still—how?

The Order. The Order had always been privy to superior technology. There were televisions, wireless devices, and primitive computers in use there decades before that kind of technology was even explored by others. It was the same with medical technologies. They were forced to be innovative, considering the types of injuries the staff was always forced to deal with. Had they experimented? Certainly. On humans? Probably. Ethically? Not likely. Not that it mattered now.

The point was, the Order had successfully brought back to life three people who had been very much dead. Their hearts were beating, their lungs breathing, their minds working, their bodies moving. Their Innocences were restored; though, as far as he knew, the Innocence had been destroyed in that battle just as thoroughly as their lives had been.

Of course, not all of that had gone smoothly, it seemed. But he'd think about that later. For now…

Rhode Camelot's voice floated through his head. _"Did you see them burned or buried? Did you see them put to rest?_"

No. He'd only seen their headstones, empty monuments to their lives. Their bodies, he'd assumed, had already been scattered on the winds, gone forever.

But what if they hadn't been? What if they'd been taken, stitched back to perfection, and frozen in eternal ice, all for the sake of a backup plan? Denied the peace of death because of some prediction that no one really believed would come true?

Leverrier's voice echoed back to him from the past. _"Exorcists are nothing but tools of the Order."_

They all knew that. They knew it even as they fought, fought for their own causes, not the Order's. That's how they survived, even as tools.

But would the Order really sink so low?

He supposed that wasn't really a question anymore—never had been, if you considered Kanda, who'd been denied death twice now. They would, and they had, and now, here, in the aftermath, these wretched _tools_ would have to figure out what they were going to do about it all.

He began to pace, floor creaking beneath his weight as he drew a track in the dust sifting across the floorboards. The cat's ears pricked up, but she didn't lift her head. Her purring echoed in his ears. He wished he could be as content.

He picked up another familiar tome from the shelf and opened it. Dust sifted down between his fingers to join its brethren in the air and on the floor.

_Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace._

"Yes, Mr. Wilde," he murmured. "But what about when death is no longer an assurance? What if it's just another chance to be exploited by the living? Is it still beautiful then?"

Shaking his head, he placed the book firmly back on the shelf. He couldn't—wouldn't—let himself lose it. He may fail at being a Bookman in many regards, but he could still use the training. Right now, he needed to sort and sift—pick out the right information to paint a picture of what was going on, and then use his knowledge to figure out a plan. He couldn't let himself be overwhelmed by the task.

So. Onward. Something had gone wrong with Allen, he knew. Something that _hadn't_ gone wrong with Yuu or Lenalee. And something weird was going on with Cassia, suddenly showing up as an accommodator, when he hadn't heard of any of those appearing for the last hundred years. And her Innocence was on her left wrist, on the same arm that held Allen's Innocence. As far as he had observed, however, Cassia's Innocence was not parasitic. Although it wasn't purely equipment type, either, or crystal. It was…well, it was weird. But the intricacies of her Innocence were, again, beside the point.

He couldn't make any conclusions until he actually saw Allen for himself, but…if Cassia and Allen's Innocences were so similar they could communicate…and if something had gone wrong when Allen was returned to the world of the living…what if Allen's malfunction hadn't been with his body, but with his Innocence? What if it hadn't all returned to him?

If that was the case, well…he hated to admit it, but they were screwed. Allen was, and always had been, their best bet for taking down the Noah. If he didn't have his full power, they had no chance at all. Of course, they had even less of a chance if they didn't get Allen out of the Order's hands.

It was all rather objective, though. They hadn't won the last time. What made him think they had a chance of winning—or even holding their own—this time, with or without Allen?

It all seemed rather helpless. He so dreaded seeing his friends die again. He hoped he would be lucky enough to go with them this time.

_It shouldn't matter to you,_ he chastised himself, banging his head gently against the window he once again stood in front of. _And they aren't your friends._

"Oi. Baka Usagi. What the hell are you doing?"

He whirled around. Yuu stood in the doorway, arms crossed, scowl in place. Lavi felt a peculiar lightness in his chest as he looked at him. _He was dead, but now he's not. He was gone, but not he's here, insulting you like nothing's changed._

"So. Did that idiotic pacing you were doing actually lead to you figuring anything out?"

"Maybe—wait, how long have you been standing there?"

"About five minutes. Funny. A…while ago, you would have noticed me right away. Looks like some of your perception skills have degraded a bit. I bet you couldn't hold your own in a fight against me anymore. Not that you could in the first place. _Che._"

He bristled at the comments. "Oh, please. My senses have only gotten better. It's you—you're just too quiet, like a fucking creepy cat, walking around without making any noise. I bet I could beat the shit out of you in battle, Yuu-chan."

Yuu gave a smirk that could only be described as evil. "Yeah? Let's see about that, Baka Usagi. I'll cut you just for calling me that."

He knew that they shouldn't be doing this; that he should be focusing on figuring out exactly what was going on and how they were going to get to Allen. But suddenly there was nothing he wanted more than to spar with Yuu like the two idiotic teenagers they had once been, to tease and bait him until he would chase him for hours, threatening to cut him up. Suddenly, that sounded like heaven.

"It's on, Yuu-chan," he said. "Maybe I'll finally give you that haircut you've needed for the last century and a half."

"I'll cut you, Usagi," he promised.

They raced down the hall and out the door to the backyard like two little boys running downstairs on Christmas morning. As he sparred with Yuu, who, to Lavi's infuriation, still very much outmatched him, he let himself pretend that they were at the Order, that Komui was watching them from some alcove to get away from his paperwork, that Allen was sitting down the hall in the cafeteria stuffing his face with ridiculous amounts of food, that Lenalee remembered both their names. He let himself hope. For the first time in a century, he broke down the walls and just let himself feel.

And for those fifteen minutes out in the chilly bleakness of the backyard, as he got his ass thoroughly kicked by Yuu, he was happy.

* * *

><p><strong>I'M BACK!<strong>

**So this chapter took a few surprising turns. I think that the developments will work out pretty well with the future of this story, though (yay for Allen torture and weird mind powers omfgidontevenknow). I got a few good ideas during my time of testing, so I think this story will go just fine for the next little while.**

**A few notes: No, I don't know anything about medical preservation, I either got the info from the web or I made it up to fit with the story. I know that it isn't medically possible to bring someone back to life. But I'm just twisting things to work the way I want them to. And, bowing to the voice of the people, I have decided to keep Lavi and Cassia's relationship at the "really good friends" level. I might do some other pairings later on, but I think it'll be better to just stay away from OCxCanon. I want this to be more Lavi-centric, anyway.**

**SO, **_**review**_**, please, and tell me what you think about what's happening. **

**I don't own DGM or Oscar Wilde's words.**


	15. Chapter 15

There was something deeply wrong with this situation. He was hundreds—thousands? of feet in the air, encased in a metal tube thing, and he wasn't falling. He'd asked—or rather, barked—how it was possible, and the annoying girl had replied that it was because the thing had _wings_. So what? He could fucking tell that it had wings. That didn't explain how it was flying.

He was, however, Kanda Yuu, and he could not allow himself to be, God forbid, _scared_ of this contraption. He couldn't help his stomach feeling a little queasy, but the feelings sure as hell weren't going to show on his face.

He shifted uncomfortably in his tiny seat and stared beyond the sleeping Usagi to the clouds floating by the window. They were flying above to ocean, to England. He'd been right about ending up in America. Even a hundred years hadn't cured them of their annoying accents.

The crazed coffee addict who always looked as though he'd been hit with a bolt of lightning had worked his weird-ass magic on the thing they called a computer and found out where the Order was now located. Still in London, but in the Parliamentary complex now, as though it had become even more entrenched in governmental business. He hated to admit it, but that scared him. If there was one thing the Order didn't need, it was more power.

So they'd found out where the Order was. The next question was how they would get there. The annoying one—Cassia—had solved that problem by disappearing for five minutes with one of the ugly metallic golem things and emerging with a full guarantee of plane tickets and lodgings for as long as they needed. He vaguely wondered how she had pulled that off, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

The annoying coffee guy had insisted on coming along, saying they would need technical support. At that point, Kanda had been just about ready to commit Seppuku. He had literally no idea why he was going along with this, anyway. The whole thing was about saving that dumbass moyashi, after all. The idiot had probably gotten himself arrested for being too small and too damn _pale_. Kanda snorted at the thought.

He supposed the real reason he was going along with them was because the Usagi seemed to think it was important. And something—some incessant, idiotic voice in the back of his head, was telling him to stick with the Usagi. That was the only way he would ever be able to sort out his still muddled mind. The damnable Usagi.

He shot a glance sideways at the still-sleeping redhead. He was splayed out in a ridiculously awkward position, long limbs stuffed in spaces too small, head resting against the window and breath misting the glass, obscuring the floating clouds. Just looking at him stirred up annoyance in Kanda…and yet, also…comfort?

The idea, the very _thought_, disgusted Kanda. _Comfort?_ In seeing that _baka_? He'd not have felt this before…before whatever. Before the end that hadn't really been the end.

His hand traveled unconsciously to his chest, where his tattoo had been. He ought to feel different, he thought. Weaker. More vulnerable. God knew he was, without the lotus curse. The curse that had been a blessing in so many infuriating ways. But he didn't feel different. He felt utterly unchanged, as though he was still living a hundred years ago, fighting a war he understood. The only difference was the lack of the lotus blossoms surrounding him. The world looked heartbreakingly colorless without them.

His fingers wandered to a long scratch on his arm, a wound he'd received during the fight after they found Lenalee. Had things been normal, it would have healed in less than a minute. As it was, it remained; a long, red reminder that everything was utterly different now.

"It doesn't help to scratch at it, Yuu-chan," said a voice from his left. He jumped, then cursed himself for the reaction. "I thought you were sleeping. You were snoring loud enough."

Lavi grinned and stretched his arms above his head. "Done for now. I'm hungry. Seriously, Yuu, stop poking at it. It'll make it worse." He pulled Kanda's hand away from his arm.

"Fuck you, it itches," he spat. "And stop calling me Yuu."

"Welcome to the world of normal human beings," Lavi grinned, pointedly ignoring the second statement. "Injuries suck. Get used to it."

He scowled at him, and the redhead fell silent, turning his head to stare out the window. He watched his face fall into an uncharacteristically sad expression. The Usagi he remembered never stopped talking, never stopped smiling, never stopped acting like the _baka_ he was. This man seemed different from the one he'd known. Too silent. He watched as Lavi traced a face in the condensation on the window. It wasn't smiling.

"What the fuck is up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're acting like the entire world's died. You're all quiet and pissed-off looking, and believe me, it's making me like you better than I ever did before, but it's weird."

He smiled sadly, not speaking. It wasn't the type of smile that belonged on the Usagi's face. It looked as though he was holding the weight of the world behind that single green eye.

"You've changed, Usagi."

"It's been a hundred years, Yuu. And you forget—the entire world _did_ die. Several times since I last saw you."

"You're not supposed to care, you idiot."

He stared straight into Kanda's eyes, the green piercing the blue. "I wasn't supposed to care. That didn't mean I never did."

Kanda broke eye contact first, unable to deal with the emotions that eye held. He hated to think it, because all he had ever felt about the Usagi was that he talked and smiled too much, but without those smiles, the man he'd known looked hollow. As though he was completely empty, lost, and broken.

He didn't like it.

He wished he could figure out why he cared.

He didn't care. Kanda Yuu sure as hell didn't care about the Usagi.

But the emptiness hurt.

* * *

><p>Her mother. Her bloody, idiotic, bitch of a mother.<p>

Her mother.

She'd wanted to visit a pen pal in England, she'd said. She'd go now, but she'd be back for Christmas. Because at that point her mom would be back from Sydney. They'd finally see each other for the first time since that summer.

That's lovely, her mother had said. Go! Have fun! I'll pay for everything! But there's just one thing…

_There was always "just one thing."_

Why didn't she stay in England over the holidays? How fun would that be? Her pen pal wouldn't mind, would he?

Why?

Well, she'd actually been planning on staying in Cancun (Cancun? Since when had she been in Cancun?) with Juan (that was a new name) over the holidays. She'd wanted to come home, she really had, but Juan was an important business associate (fuck buddy), and they were thinking about opening up a new office in the city, to develop some more of the shoreline (like Cancun needed more development).

So.

She was shuttled off to England for Christmas. Off to stay with the pen pal she didn't really have. Out of the way. What a relief for her mother. She didn't have to deal with her needy daughter over the holidays. She could have fun with _Juan_ in peace.

What a burden for her mother, to have a daughter. What a burden. What a waste.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to punch something, to smash a vase full of water and watch it splash all over the floor, and then leave it there, ragged roses resting in the shards of porcelain. She wanted to murder someone. Juan, maybe. Or her mother. In the moment after she hung up the phone, with the silence of the house wrapping around her, she thought she would have happily stabbed her mother in the back were she able to see her.

But then she'd heard the other's voices down the hall, arguing and laughing, and no, she wasn't alone. There was a new purpose now, no matter how nonsensical it was. _Find Allen_. That was what they all wanted, so she supposed that's what she wanted, too. And she'd accomplished her job. They had a way to get to London. They had a place to stay. They had her mother's credit card. She'd succeeded, and they'd be happy and thank her, and they'd find this kid, and then maybe his mind would get out of hers. She'd done what she needed to.

So why did she feel so empty?

She felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Empty and full. What odd emotions. She was a mess of contradictions.

She watched the Atlantic glittering in the moonlight below where they flew. Sam was slumped next to her; his head drooped over on her shoulder. Next to him sat Lenalee, eyes wide, sitting up straight as she observed everything around her through shining eyes. She was like a little girl, discovering every tiny wonder of the world all over again. She'd changed clothes, and was now wearing a pair of Cassia's old jeans. She still looked unbelievably sexy in them, and Cassia couldn't help feeling a little jealous of her curvy body, so different from her own, washboard-like one. She couldn't really feel any ill-will toward her, though, not when the girl was so _child-like _and desperate for Allen. She was kind. One of the most genuinely kind people Cassia had ever met.

She sighed, turning her gaze back out the window. She wished she could make all her thoughts just leave, make her mind nothing but a blank, empty canvas. Ready for new thoughts. Hopefully good ones.

But probably not.

* * *

><p>Airports. Of all the places in the world, he hated airports the most. Messy, busy, rushing crushes of irritated, late, stupid humans. And here he was, stuck in one.<p>

He sighed, running his hand through his hair, mussing it further. Lenalee glanced sideways and smiled at him. He smiled back weakly, then stumbled backward as a luggage trolley slammed hard into his ankle.

"Fuck," he cursed.

"You seem on edge, Lavi."

"I just…don't like airports. Where the hell is everyone else? They just said they needed to go to the bathroom."

"Maybe they got lost. It is such a large building, isn't it, Lavi? And so many people…"

"Yup," he grunted. "You should see JFK. It's even worse."

She was silent a moment. Then: "Lavi? Do you really think we'll be able to find him? Do you think he'll…do you think he'll remember me? Cassia said he was being…t-tortured. Do you think he'll be alright?"

He sighed again. "I don't know, Lena-lady. We know he's here somewhere, which is something. But I can't say what he'll be like if—when we find him. All I can do is hope. That's what you have to do, too. We have to hope he'll be alright."

She toed at the edge of the baggage carousal with her foot. "We need him, don't we? I mean, more than me just _feeling_ like _I_ need him. This Earl…and the Noah…I don't really _remember_, but I _feel_…I feel like he's the only one that can deal with them. Am I right?"

He was silent for a moment, staring out the large windows at the end of the baggage claim area. It was raining, as it always was in England. The entire world looked like an ocean of umbrellas.

"We do need him. He was the only one who had half a hope of defeating the Earl before, which means he's the only one who does now, too. At least, I think so. Regardless, without him, we'll be screwed. We already kinda are, but we'll be more screwed unless we can find him safely."

"I wish—" Lenalee started, then fell silent.

"What?"

"I…I wish I hadn't come back. I wish none of this was happening."

"I wish that, too, Lena-lady. I missed you, though. I'm glad to see you again."

"Really?" she looked at him. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry, Lavi. That I can't remember. I feel them, the memories, tickling me in the back of my head, but they won't come out. They're trapped there. I want to reach them, but I _can't_. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. It's all Central…and when I get to whoever came up with this _plan_, I'm going to strangle them with my bare hands."

"I'll help you," she said. He laughed. He couldn't imagine Lenalee ever getting angry enough to strangle someone. Kick the hell out of them with her boots, yes. Strangle? He doubted her delicate hands would fit around anyone's neck. But kicking them would be good enough.

"There they are!" she cried, pointing. Cassia and Sam were threading their way through the crowds, Kanda following with a sour look on his face.

"Did you get all the baggage?" asked Cassia. "Good. Let's get out of here."

"Thank you," he mumbled.

They got a cab and Cassia directed the driver to an address in the Bloomsbury district. They shot off, with the cabbie proving to be an outstandingly terrifying driver. He felt rather like throwing up, but he managed to hold it in.

"Where're we going, Cassia?"

"I didn't want to spend too much money on lodging, so we're bumming off one of my dad's old friends. You'll like him. He's got a book collection even bigger than my dad's."

"You're sure he's okay with five kids crashing in his house?"

"Yeah, he's fine with it. I called him, don't worry. He's excited 'cause all of his kids are gone. He says he misses the excitement."

"Well, he'll be getting some. I hope he understands what he's getting himself into. Especially with Yuu."

"Shut the fuck up, Usagi."

"You're so mean!"

"I'm not mean, I just don't like idiots. So stop talking to me, looking at me, and trying to engage me in any way whatsoever, and I'll be nice."

"But I need you close to me, after so long apart!" He threw his arms dramatically around Kanda and tried to snuggle him close. He got a punch in the face for his efforts. Lenalee wedged herself in between them, and the rest of the ride was spent in silent thought.

The things Kanda had said on the airplane had struck him deeply. Was he really being so transparent with his emotions? How had he lost his skills so suddenly? It didn't make sense, but he did know that he had to be more careful. He felt as though he was Lavi, but the outer façade of Lavi—the laughing, smiling, carefree boy—had always been just that—a façade. 'Lavi' itself had a much deeper personality, and that was what he was now connecting with. The goofy façade was still lost. But it was obvious he had to find it again.

The problem was, Kanda was way too observant. He'd noticed that Lavi wasn't acting right. Now, he'd be suspicious because the old Lavi was back so suddenly. He was trapped.

After a harrowing drive through the streets of downtown London, they pulled to a halt in front of a row of old brownstones across the street from a park. They all piled out and dragged their luggage onto the soggy sidewalk as Cassia paid the driver.

"Right," she said, consulting a tiny scrap of paper. The number's 542B, so it's the flat…" Walking up to the buzzer, she pushed the button.

"Hello?"

"Hi…this is Cassia Marston…I'm looking for the Tiedolls…"

He felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. Looking to his right, he saw that even Kanda's mask had slipped, absolute shock showing in his blue eyes. _Tiedoll_.

He forced himself to calm down. It was just a coincidence. There had to be more than one family with the name Tiedoll in the world. They hadn't said anything about the old general being back.

The door opened, and Cassia was enveloped in the arms of a rather short, stocky man with a cloud of curly brown hair…

…but the face. The face was too young, much too young. There was no mustache, and the glasses were chunky and modern. It wasn't the same man. But he looked a whole damn lot like him.

"So these are your friends, Cassia!" he boomed. "Oh! It'll be so good to have _children_ in the house. Mary and I have been so lonely…" he drew them all into the door, beckoning them up a narrow, rickety staircase to the surprisingly large flat above. They all passed him, but he stopped at Kanda.

"You…"

"What?" Kanda spat, rude as ever.

"Don't be an asshole, Kanda," Cassia mumbled. "We're bumming off them, remember?"

"No, no, it's fine," said the man. "It's just…I've seen pictures of you before. And wait…" he turned to Lavi and Lenalee. "Of you two, too. My God, it's _you_…"

Kanda's face was a hard mask. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

The man's face was white, as white as the paint on the walls of the hall they were standing in. He turned back to Cassia. "Cassia…my dear, have you any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

She looked back at him. "What…?"

He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. "I never thought it would come to this. I'd heard that this was the plan, of course, but I didn't…no one ever thought…good God, this means they're back…are they back?"

Lavi was the only one who had any grasp of what was going on. "The Noah, you mean? Yeah, they're back. They're definitely back."

The man sat heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands. "Where's the other one, then? The Destroyer of Time?"

"At the Order," Lavi answered. "They're keeping him there…they think the 14th is still in him."

"Oh, Lord," the man groaned.

"Wait," said Cassia. "Stop. Pause. You…_know_ about this? About the Order? About the Innocence, and the Noah? What the hell is going on?"

He raised his head to look at her. "Of course. Oh, Cassia. I had so hoped that you would never need to know, never need to be involved with this." He turned to the rest of them and mustered a smile. "Welcome to my home. I am Lars Teidoll. My great-grandfather was Froi Teidoll. I think you might have known him."

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, so this is a bit of a filler chapter. Next chapter…oh, the things I have planned for next chapter. *<strong>**Evil laugh*******

**Thanks for the reviews! Especially Ivorymoonlight…the answering of all my questions and the advice is greatly appreciated, and your diligence is impressive. Don't worry, I never get tired of review alerts. That goes for the rest of you, too. Every bit of advice I can get makes this thing better, so if you have reviewed, thank you, and if you haven't…uh, do. 7 more reviews and we'll be up to 50. Wanna make me happy?**

**Okay. Thanks. Bye.**


	16. Oh, Let Me Be

**So you know how I said I had "big plans for next chapter?" Yeah. It got too long to carry out those big plans. There was too much to explain and too much boring talking in this chapter. But I WILL post the next chapter next week (at the latest), I promise! Most of it's already written. To make up for the fact that this chapter isn't nearly as good, I gave it a title. That makes everything better, right?**

**Also, me + action scenes = disaster. I'm sorry. I tried, I really did. I hope it's passable.**

* * *

><p>OH, LET ME BE<p>

He wouldn't speak until they were all seated comfortably in the cramped living room, nursing thick mugs of black tea. Kanda took one sniff and refused to drink it, setting it aside. Everyone else drank gratefully, warming their hands and insides with the liquid.

Even after they were all settled, Lars Teidoll remained silent, staring into his own mug. Only after an awkward silence of more than ten minutes did he begin to speak.

"So. You all knew my great-great grandfather. Froi. He was an exorcist…a general at the Black Order. Of course you knew him. I have a book of photographs he kept of his time there, and all of you," he pointed to Kanda, Lavi and Lenalee, "are in them. He loved you all like children."

Kanda snorted, causing Lars to look up. "You…Kanda Yuu. You were his favorite, I think. He loved you like a son."

"Why the hell would he _love_ someone like me?"

Lars considered him. "Because he lost his own son. Patience. I will tell you.

"You all know that the Order was happy to separate families in order to serve their cause. When they tracked down Teidoll and identified him as a powerful user of the Innocence, he already had a young family, a wife and two children. He went with the Order willingly, because he had long been feeling a restlessness caused by the Innocence, and he wanted to act upon it. He was like any other young man, wanting to play the hero. He wanted to make the world safe for his family. What he didn't know was that he would never see them again. They waited to tell him that until the first time he asked for leave to visit them. He would never see them again. He was dead to them. They didn't want his family to make an Akuma out of him when he died.

"So there he was, still young, and sick with loneliness, at General level after only a year with the Order. There was only one thing he could do, and that was start adopting younger exorcists to train and protect, to act as his children. So that's what he did. And, Kanda, he loved all you just as much as he loved his two real children."

"The old sentimental bastard," Kanda muttered. But his voice sounded softer than usual.

"Right," said Cassia briskly. "That's great and all, but _please_, Lars, explain to me how you come into this. How do you know about all this? Who _are_ you?"

He laughed slightly. "_Patience,_ Cassia, for God's sake. I'll get to it. You need the reasons before you find the answers.

"So, as you all know, Froi Teidoll was a General. He remained with them through the end—when he was killed in the final battle along with everyone else."

Cassia noticed Lavi guiltily lower his eyes at these words.

Lars continued. "At the time of his death, Froi hadn't seen his family in twenty years. But his family hadn't forgotten him, any more than he forgot his family.

"His son, Franz, had made his way to the Order years before, after his mother told him where his father had gone and why he left them. He swore a vow to never tell his father of his presence at the Order, never even interact with him unless it was absolutely necessary, and Franz kept that promise. He remained silent and simply watched his father, happy to be in the same organization as he. And he gradually moved up in the administrative ranks until he was fairly high up, an assistant inspector, or something of the sort. Anyway, he lived through the final battle, as did many of the administrators, thanks to the protection the exorcists and the CROW members gave them. Franz saw his father killed, and he vowed to dedicate the remainder of his own life to make sure the Noah never again returned to the earth to wreak havoc. So he remained with the Order as it grew smaller and less important, and he _planned_. He worked with Malcolm Leverrier."

Cassia watched all three of the exorcists tense at his name.

"Obviously you all remember him. He was a man with a bit of an evil streak in him. But he provided a backup plan when no one else could. One that would help protect the world from the forces of the Noah and Dark Matter should they ever return. And so my great-grandfather went along with him."

"Don't tell me," Lavi groaned. "That 'backup plan'…"

Lars nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. The Order's technology was far ahead of its time, and Leverrier had access to sophisticated preservation techniques, perfected after years of experimentation by the Black Order's scientists. He ordered the retrieval and restoration of every exorcist's body, as well as the collection of any vestiges of Innocence. And then he did research, and all his lackeys did research, and over time, they laid out a plan. It was straightforward, if rather impossible. Bring the powerful, dead exorcists back to life. _Especially_ Allen Walker."

"Wait," Lavi interjected. "I didn't die. And I was at the Order for eight months after the battle. I saw all the graves. I listened to people talk about the funerals. How—"

"It was all absolutely top-secret," said Lars. "Naturally. People would have thought them insane, not to mention sacrilegious. I mean, some of the people _working on the project_ thought that. But it wasn't impossible—Leverrier proved that. There was sound, if secret, scientific evidence that it could be done. Unfortunately, Leverrier died before the research was completed. Fortunately, he had a son to take his place."

"When did that bastard have time to make babies?" questioned Lavi under his breath. Lenalee shot him a disapproving glance, and he shut up, turning back to Lars.

"The same happened to my great-grandfather. He died, but he had a son who took his place. My grandfather. So this plan was the work of two generations, and, when it was fully functional, well, all there was to do was wait until it was needed. If it ever would be. My father worked for the Order, too, in the same administrative position as his father and grandfather before him. It was during my father's time the Order became powerful again, gaining political importance quite suddenly. He had a lot to do with that shift.

"I grew up in the Order. Its massive hallways were my playground. The employees were my playmates. I was told the stories of the war and the final battle—your stories—as I fell asleep at night. I always knew I would follow in my father's footsteps, and I didn't mind. I didn't have anything better to do. That is, until I discovered literature. Then I knew—I had to write. I had to read. Had to share the beauty of it with others. I could never succeed as an Inspector. But I didn't tell my father that. I followed the path he laid out for me, because I couldn't bear to disappoint him.

"I lasted about two years. Then I couldn't bear it any longer. I'd met Mary, my wife, by then, and she told me what I already knew. I was wasting my life. Drowning in my own misery and self-pity. She helped me gather the courage to leave. I left the Order and went to Oriel College in Oxford to study literature and philosophy. My father was indeed disappointed. He never spoke to me again, and he died ten years ago.

"But the point of all this is, I learned things. Even in those two years, I learned secrets only available to the highest-ranking administrators and scientists of the Order. Some of the secrets were wonderful—things I never knew could be possible that were helping the world. Most of it was horrifying, though. The things I saw of Leverrier's plan still haunt my dreams. I wish I had been brave enough to have never gotten involved in the first place. But the information I have might help you now…" he trailed off, staring at the floor.

"The things you saw," said Cassia slowly. "of Leverrier's plan? You don't mean…"

"Yes," said Lars. "I saw you. You two," he said, pointing at Lenalee and Kanda. "I saw most of the other exorcists, too…and Allen Walker…they kept him special, in a room all his own…"

"You didn't see us…" said Kanda slowly. "You saw our bodes. Dead."

Lars swallowed. "They kept you in suspended animation…frozen, perfectly preserved, pumped full of chemicals and nutrients…only you were dead. I was never quite sure about the exact method they planned to use to bring you back…that was information reserved for the top scientists, but I do know that it was a complicated process. They had to rejoin the body with the essence of the Innocence at the _exact_ same time they applied the energy and chemicals to bring the body back to life. It was an extremely dangerous process, and I can tell by the fact that so few of those I saw there are here now that it didn't work as well as the Order hoped. I suppose the fusion couldn't work every time…perhaps some of the Innocence truly was lost forever. Or perhaps some was faulty. I can only guess…"

Abruptly, Lenalee stood. Her hands were fisted at her sides and they trembled slightly, bumping against the fabric of her jeans.

"Stop," she said. Her voice was surprisingly strong for how frail her body language appeared. "I do not want to know. I was dead, and now I am alive, and I don't remember anything in between. Or before, for that matter. At this point, I don't wish to. So please. Stop."

Kanda stood and joined her. "She's right. I don't want to know what was done to me this time around. I'm going to meditate. If any of you bother me, you'll die." He stalked out of the room.

Lenalee's lip was trembling uncontrollably. Lavi reached up a hand to comfort her, or perhaps just to guide her down to the couch before she simply collapsed. But she brushed away his effort and, wiping tears out of her eyes, said thickly, "You're not him. You're not Allen. I'm sorry. I just _can't_."

She walked from the room, the fabric of her sweater just barely brushing Lavi's still-outstretched fingertips. Cassia watched as his expression hardened, becoming akin to the mask she'd seen clouding his features when they'd first met. He stood stiffly, forcing an empty smile onto his face, and followed Lenalee's path out into the hallway, pausing only to deliver a false sounding "thank you" to Lars.

That left only Cassia, Lars and Sam. Sam, looking uncomfortable and still somewhat lost, stood as well, slapping his palms loudly against his thighs.

"I gotta check my email. Do you have a computer? I don't wanna dig my laptop out of my suitcase."

Lars startled, as though shaken from deep thought. "Oh! Yes! Of course…it's in the kitchen, feel free to use it…"

And then it was only she and he, sitting silent, ridiculously uncomfortable for two people with a relationship that had once been akin to father and daughter.

"Did my father know? Or my mother? About any of this?"

He waited a moment before nodding slowly. "Your father did. He was Mary's friend at school, and he became my good friend as well. He knew what I was embroiled in. He also encouraged me to get out of the Order…he loved literature as much as I did, and he could see that I was unhappy. So yes, he knew the basics. So did your mother…I knew her as well during my college years. But only the basics. None of the top-secret stuff. They both knew who I was. Who the Noah were. Who and what the exorcists and the Innocence were. They knew that it was dangerous, and for that reason we all agreed to keep you out of it. It was only logical, Cassia."

She sighed, looking down into her lap. "I know."

"I wish that you had been able to stay out of it. The coincidences that lead to this are so…strange."

"I know. I know. So do I. God, so do I."

She felt the tears coming, wetting her cheeks with their pathetic tracks. She buried her face in her hands, cursing everything all at once. There was a slight movement as she felt Lars come to sit next to her. And then she felt herself drawn into his arms, face pressed against his shirt, and she breathed in the scent that had always hung about her father, dried pages, binding glue, ink, and dust. She relaxed slightly.

She let herself cry into his shoulder as the night drew in and the rain turned to hail, clattering against the window frame.

* * *

><p>The lamplight flickered off the rain-soaked window, throwing his reflection back at him. It enthralled him, that watery, nearly non-existent copy of himself, staring at him with a single dark, unfathomable eye. He viewed himself with a sense of disconnect—he could not quite believe that it was <em>he<em>, rather than some stolen body for his stolen soul. He supposed it was that, after all. Everyone who that body had been was a lie. Still, he should have gotten used to it after a hundred and forty-two years.

He was sharing a room with Sam and Yuu, and there were only two beds. This fact infuriated Yuu, who had stalked off to the bathroom of all places to meditate. On the contrary, Sam had simply shrugged and sprawled himself onto one of the beds. He was already snoring.

Lavi himself had been immediately distracted by the rows and rows of glorious books lining the walls of the room. He'd flipped the desk lamp on and settled down to lose himself in the glorious words.

But now he was distracted. Milton wasn't cutting it. He wanted to move; his legs were itching with the need. He needed to _do_ something. His mind kept flashing back to Lenalee's tearstained face…the way she had looked as she jerked out of his grasp, refusing his help, rejecting his sympathy…

He stood abruptly and switched off the desk light, plunging the room into darkness. He grabbed the jacket he'd carelessly thrown on the end of one of the beds and, checking to make sure his Innocence was still in his pocket, quietly left the room. It was deep night now, after midnight, and no light shone from the cracks under the doors of the girl's and Lars's room. The glow emanating from the bathroom showed that Yuu was still stubbornly meditating. He chuckled slightly, despite himself. Some things never changed.

The night air was freezing on his face when he stepped out onto the street. It was not raining now so much as misting; a fine, velvety sheathe of moisture that settled itself on every portion of his body, chilling him to the bone. He didn't mind, though. He needed this feeling, needed the tingling pain that was already beginning to work its way up his fingertips. He needed to feel alive.

He walked. The streets were surprisingly quiet, given he was in a London university district. He supposed everyone must be home for the Christmas holidays. The only signs of life on the streets were a few cabs and some pedestrians he passed in silence on some of the busier streets.

He walked. His mind wandered to the past times he'd been in London. He had spent parts of both World War I and II here. He'd been here for a long stint in the 80's. And, of course, before that…

He walked. He thought of the Order, of that magnificent building that was too close, too close to Central, too close to all the eyes that insisted on watching them. They'd been fine before the eyes had begun watching so closely. It was the eyes that had caused Allen's transformation to speed up. It was the eyes that had driven him away. It was the eyes that had killed him, eventually. The eyes had killed them all.

He walked. Lars's voice came back to him, describing once more the process that Yuu and Lenalee and Allen had all undergone to be back here now. _"They had to rejoin them to the Innocence at the exact same time they applied the energy and chemicals to bring them back to life…it was a dangerous process…"_ He shuddered. Nothing he'd ever seen or heard before had made him quite this uncomfortable, and he'd seen a lot. He just couldn't fathom what they'd done. He hardly wanted to dwell on it.

He walked. Yet another thing was bothering him. The Order had existed this entire time, and he hadn't known. He'd thought it had dissolved soon after he left. He was a _Bookman_, for God's sake! How had he missed the fact that the Order was, yet again, taking over the British government?

He walked. How, for that matter, had he failed to realize who Mark Evanston was? He'd seen the man a dozen times on television, on news websites, and in the papers, yet it had never clicked. He'd only realized it in that classroom, with the man's face staring him straight in the eye. He hadn't been paying attention. And he was a Bookman. His job was to pay attention.

At last, after what seemed like hours of walking, he found himself in a large park. The trees loomed like skeletons above him, clattering their icy branches together in the stiff wind. He shivered, pulling his coat tighter around his chest, and kept walking, still with no idea where he was going, just moving to satisfy the itching need his legs were giving off.

That is, until he stumbled over something, nearly faceplanting into the frozen ground. He managed to catch himself on the rough bark of a tree, and he turned to see what he had tripped over. It took him a moment to realize, but soon it was utterly clear.

A tombstone.

A quick look around him confirmed it—he was surrounded by them. A graveyard. He'd stumbled into a graveyard without even realizing it 'till he tripped over a goddamn tombstone. His powers of observation really were getting worse.

If there was anywhere Lavi hated more than airports, it was graveyards. He supposed it was the general stigma of the places, combined with the fact that many of his worst memories were of standing in graveyards. Like it or not, Lavi had always cared more than he should have, and that trait was no friend to a Bookman who always had to leave the dead behind.

But there was something else not right about this graveyard in particular. He felt a strong sense of déjà vu. He had been here before.

His heart had fallen into his stomach and was twisting itself in knots, beating too fast and too slow at the same time. Nausea was rising in his throat. He fished his Innocence out of his pocket and activated it, causing an unearthly red light to bloom from the weapon. He held it to the nearest tombstone, and the words written upon it were thrown into sharp relief.

_Alyster Krory III. 1867-1897_

He stumbled backward, willing himself to leave, to believe that this was all a dream; that he wasn't really here in this graveyard yet again. But there, next to Krory's stone…

_Miranda Lotto. 1865-1897_

Why wasn't he leaving? Why wasn't he running away?

_Timothy Hurst. 1886-1897_

He knew whose was next. He'd memorized the order they came in the very first—and only—time he'd laid eyes on this devastating row of tombstones.

_Lenalee Lee. 1878-1897_

And right next to her, the way he had made the Order promise to do it when they were both dead, always unwilling to leave his sister…

_Komui Lee. 1865-1897._

Then the Japanese kanji. The Order had been resistant when Kanda had first insisted that his gravestone be engraved with his native language, saying that it was their policy to make everything uniform, but after a few years of threats, they gave in.

_神田__ユウ__. __1886-1987._

And finally—

_Allen Walker. 1879-1897._

They almost didn't give him a gravestone because he was no longer an exorcist when he died. Leverrier, of all people, had convinced them that Allen deserved one. And so there it was.

He lost his battle with the nausea crawling its way up his throat and fell to the ground in front of Allen's stone, retching the meager contents of his stomach onto the frozen soil. It was a poor gravestone offering, he knew. He also knew that Allen wasn't there to be offended by it.

After the bout of sickness passed, he pushed himself weakly to his feet, eyes questing through the darkness. He knew the direction he needed to go in, and he remembered exactly where it was—a dark copse of trees, set away from the other parts of the graveyard…

He stumbled over more gravestones, hardly in control of his feet or legs anymore. He retraced the steps he'd traced for the first time so many years ago.

The gravestone wasn't so much a marker as it was a slightly larger rock. If one looked closely, a roughly hewn symbol stood out. An open book, with a feather pen lying crosswise over it. The Bookman insignia.

Once again, his knees gave out, and he slumped to the cold ground. He touched his cheek in a detached sort of way, and felt warm trails of liquid mixing with the cold rain.

"My God, Panda," he said, laughing slightly. "Crying in front of your grave. You would be so disappointed if you could see me now. I was so determined after…and it all just fell apart. Turns out I couldn't forget."

He fisted his hands in the thin layer of cold dirt. Unlike with the others, his grandfather's body really _was _under this layer of soil, lying there dead. He wasn't coming back to life. Lavi would never see his face again, would never be smacked upside the head when he did something stupid, could never again ask any questions or hear any stories from his mentor. He was alone. He had been alone for the past 120 years, but now he was realizing it. He had been numb, had _forced_ himself to be numb, and now he was feeling. God, was he feeling.

He collapsed into a curled position, resting his head on the top of the stone. He wound his arms around himself, hugging every bit of his cold, wet, body close to every other bit. And he cried. He cried because he had thought his friends were dead. He cried because some of them were alive. He cried because he could feel his Innocence burning like an old friend against his skin from where it lay in his pocket. He cried for the feeling of emptiness that being without that Innocence had caused him. He cried for the fact that he couldn't have friends. He cried because he was alone, because he would always be alone, and because there was nothing he could do about it. He cried because he was a Bookman. He cried for every Bookman that had ever lived, cried for their loneliness, for the hopelessness that must have festered in their hearts on cold nights as it had festered in his. He cried because he missed his grandfather.

He cried until he heard the footsteps behind him, the low voices, whispering over and over again, _"he's here_".

His eyes blinked open, crusty with tears, seeing only darkness.

"_There!"_

He thrust himself sideways with no time to spare, barely missing the blast of light that caused the gravestone—the only memory of his grandfather—to crumble into nothing. Turning, he saw what he expected to see. Akuma. Two Level Twos and one Level Three.

Okay. No big deal. He could take them. He might be out of practice, but they were in this graveyard. They had walked over the graves of his friends and destroyed the stone that had marked his grandfather's grave. He _would_ take them.

He stood and drew his hammer from the pocket of his coat. He didn't even have to think about activating it; it was already glowing and thrumming with power. He merely had to think about it extending and growing large and it did, obliging immediately to his thoughts.

"Oooh, look…" the Level Three moaned in an unearthly voice. "The little exorcist is ready to fight. We got better, though…while you were gone we got better, stronger, stronger, stronger…and now you'll _die!_"

It lunged for him and shot a bullet, which he barely managed to evade while blocking attacks from the Level Twos. Fighting three Akuma at once, he found himself in the ridiculous position of twirling around like some mad ballet dancer, deflecting hits and sending blows when he could. He knew he had to call on one of the seals, he could only hope that they worked the same now as they had before his Innocence changed to crystal type.

When he thought about it, the circle of seals appeared around him, glowing as they always had. He had thought that perhaps the unknown seals would now be unlocked, but they remained glowing question marks floating above his head. He wasted no time in slamming his hammer onto the fire one.

"_Hi Ban!"_

Even knowing that his Innocence had changed could not have prepared him for the way his fire seal was now acting. An explosion of power more intense than he could have ever hoped to create before nearly blew him off his feet. The fire dragon was whirling around him, licking the trees and singeing the ground. Where it touched the cold earth steam rose, obscuring his vision. He could tell by the screams and then the quiet, barely-there sigh of relief that he'd caught at least one of the Akuma in the initial attack. But where were the others? He closed his eye, relying on his ears to tell him where in the mess of fire and steam they were.

There was one. He was able to bring his hammer up barely in time to deflect another bullet, and he sent the dragon after the Akuma as soon as he determined its location. Unfortunately, it was another Level Two. Where the hell had the Level Three gone?

He let the dragon fade, exhausted from holding the seal, yet not nearly as exhausted as he should have been. It was easier to control and use his Innocence now. He wondered if this was a result of it turning to crystal type, or if he had inexplicably grown stronger even as he'd been forcing himself to forget he'd ever had Innocence.

"Stronger? Hmm. We grew stronger, too. Stronger, stronger, stronger, stronger…"

He whirled. The Level Three stood directly behind him, close enough to touch, a wicked looking sword in his hand. A sword? Since when had any Akuma used a weapon other than what their bodies were already equipped with?

"Stronger, I said, stronger. We change. Stronger, we are stronger, stronger. You will never beat me. I am stronger."

It swung the sword. Lavi barely got the handle of his hammer in between them in time.

And then it was no longer in front of him. He whirled, and, as in a dream, saw the sword heading straight for his chest. It was a miniature version of the Earl and Allen's swords, and he remembered very clearly afterwards that it still glowed silver, even though there was no moon to reflect in it.

He managed to sidestep it slightly, but not enough. It caught him on the hip, leaving a thin, burning line of fire. The Akuma laughed maniacally.

"Got you! Got you! Got you! You won't last long now! The virus'll get you! Got you! 'Cause I'm stronger, stronger, stronger…"

He cursed loudly as the burning intensified. _The blood virus_. Now _that_ was one side effect of being an exorcist that he hadn't missed at all.

Allen was immune. Krory was immune. Yuu was immune.

He was not.

His legs gave out, and he caught himself on one knee, balancing his body with a few fingertips placed on the cold ground. He stared, horrified, at the pentacles seeping across the skin that showed through the cut in his shirt. It was bubbling slightly, doing things he'd rather not think about. He wanted to vomit again, but he didn't think he had the strength. The burning was spreading throughout his body. How pathetic. After all this, to be killed alone by a Level Three he once would have defeated with ease, surrounded by the empty graves of his friends.

He raised his head with difficulty. The Akuma was no longer near him. Looking around, he finally saw it, a dark shadow near his grandfather's grave.

He squinted. His vision was blurring, but he could still make out the fact that the Akuma was kicking at the grave. Scattering the pieces of the stone. Gouging deep furrows into the frozen ground with its foot. Still laughing, muttering "stronger, stronger, stronger."

Anger welled up in him, a terrible wave that washed away all the pain and fear and heaviness. He gripped the handle of his Innocence and hauled himself to his feet. Took one shaking step forward.

The Akuma looked up, its inhuman face registering a twisted look of surprise.

"No," he said. "I will not let you."

He didn't know if he had enough strength. But he had to. He had to.

He raised his hammer. "_Konbo Ban."_

He was surrounded once more by fire, but this time it was superheated metal, glowing with red scales and breathing blue flames. It curled around him like a docile pet, not burning, not hurting, just waiting for him to give an order.

He twitched the hammer. The beast twitched with it. He whirled the hammer around. The beast whirled in tandem, creating a windstorm all its own.

It had never been this easy before.

He pointed the hammer at the Akuma. It was dead before it could scream. The trees around where it had been were burning, as was the ground. He thought he should get away before the flames spread, but he didn't think he could move.

"Guess you got cremated after all, eh, Panda?" he whispered. Bookmen weren't cremated, members of the Order or not. Instead, they were buried in unmarked graves like this one.

His hammer slipped from his grasp, and the dragon created by the combo seal faded out of existence, leaving only the fire burning. And then, somehow, he was on the ground, and the world was hazy and indistinct around him. He wondered briefly if it really _had_ been a dream, and if he was now waking up. But no. He hurt too much for that.

He vaguely perceived his seal circle hovering in the air above him. Tessei seemed to be moving on its own, heading as if in slow motion toward one of the question mark seals. That shouldn't have been happening. The Innocence couldn't act on its own. He must be dreaming.

He had no idea which seal the hammer was heading for, and he had no idea what it did. It seemed like a bad idea to activate it when he was just going to die. He wondered if he'd even stay conscious long enough to see what it did. He wanted to stop it from happening. He should have been able to, but he couldn't move his limbs. Couldn't even twitch a finger.

And then the hammer hit the seal.

There was an explosion of green light, and probably sound too, but his ears had stopped working. It blinded him, and he could feel himself slipping away. He could see a dark pentacle covering the tip of his nose…

And then there was only cool green and peace.

* * *

><p><em>Usagi? Hey, Usagi! You fucking baka, what the hell were you thinking? Wake up! Goddammit, what is this green shit? Baka Usagi! LAVI!<em>

He was dead.

_Listen, you little motherfucker, if I could be anywhere other than here right now, I would be. It's freezing, it's the middle of the night, there's fire and smoke everywhere, and I'm with you. So wake the hell up so I can leave._

No, he knew he was dead. He'd been cut by an Akuma. He'd seen the pentacles covering every part of his body. He'd felt himself slip away.

But—

_I'm going to slap you. I swear to god, you baka, I will slap you._

There was an outstanding amount of pain on his face.

_I did slap you. Wake up, you baka, there's nothing even wrong with you._

Was that…Kanda's voice? How had Kanda known where he was?

_If you think I'm dragging your unconscious body back to the house, you've got another think coming, Usagi. If you're not walking yourself, you're not getting there at all._

"Yuu?"

"_Che_. It's _Kanda_."

He opened his eyes.

It was still dark, but the clouds were clearing above him. He could see the blurry light from the stars. Yuu's face was hovering over him, hazy and indistinct, flickering light playing off it in intervals. He could still see the green. It was clinging to him like a second skin.

Yuu…the great Kanda Yuu was _on his knees_ next to him. Granted, he looked as though he were ready to murder him, but still.

"Aww…Yuu, that's sweet of you."

"Shut the hell up. What happened? Why the hell are you all the way over here? Why did you leave the house, you _baka_? You know they're out here."

He forced himself to a sitting position and winced as the pain in his hip flared. And yet, when he looked, the wound was hardly visible, and the blackened pentacles that had covered him were gone. Green tendrils were wrapped everywhere, but they were fading even as he looked.

"I had to leave…I just needed to walk. I didn't mean to end up here. It just happened. How…how did you find me?"

"What _happened_, _baka?_"

"Akuma…they caught me off guard. I was looking at the graves."

"Oh…that's what this is. A graveyard. I couldn't tell 'cause you fucking _set it on fire_."

"It was my Innocence…it's more powerful now. I dunno why. But I got hit by an Akuma…the pentacles were all over me. How am I not dead? And _how did you find me_?"

"I just…know where you are. They did it to me, probably so I could find you in the first place. I knew where to go, even when I didn't remember who you were. Or who I was. So now I'm cursed with knowing where you are and I have this incessant _need_ to follow you and be where you are and _bloody hell_, Usagi, you're lucky I haven't killed you yet, 'cause you're the last person in the world I want to be following around like a fucking puppy dog."

"Heh…puppy dog Yuu."

There was a sword at his throat. "Say that again, _baka_."

"Sorry, sorry. But this means they must have done the same sort of thing to you as they did to Lenalee with Allen."

"_Che_. That's just Lenalee being Lenalee. She's too damn obsessed with the Moyashi. Always has been."

"So are you saying you're damn obsessed with me?"

Kanda didn't lower himself to answer that question. Instead, he put a hand under Lavi's arm and dragged him painfully to his feet. He winced, but managed to stay upright. Standing, he was able to look around more. Yuu had spoken the truth when he said that he'd set the graveyard on fire. The entire copse of trees surrounding Bookman's grave was burning, and the flames were creeping slowly over the ground, only kept in check by the freezing wind and the cold that was inhospitable to the fire. Lavi shivered as another cold draft blew over him, and only then did he realize he was missing his shirt. It had been burned and shredded, the only surviving bits rags clinging to his upper arms.

"I don't have a shirt on."

"I'd noticed."

"Damn, Yuu. I'm cold. Lemme have your coat."

"You're kidding, right? You got yourself into this. Deal with it."

"It'll be awkward on the way home."

"There's no one around to see you 'cause you're the only person stupid enough to be outside at 2:45 am in the middle of December."

"_Yuu, I will get hypothermia and collapse and then you will have to carry me back home like I'm your brand new bride."_

The Japanese man glared at him coldly for a long time, then swore and took off his coat. Lavi reached out for it eagerly, but Yuu shook his head. "I'm not giving this to you. It's too warm. You can have my shirt. But only till we get home."

"Really? Aww…that's so kind of you."

"_Shut the hell up_."

He removed his shirt, which, to Lavi's dismay, was short sleeved. Still, he put it on gratefully, reveling in the warmth it retained. It was too small for him by a long shot. Yuu really was too thin.

They stood in silence for a few awkward moments until Lavi finally crushed his pride enough to mumble a "thanks."

"_Che._ Let's go. Where's your Innocence?"

"Oh…crap." Lavi dropped back down to his knees, sifting through the dead grass until he finally recovered his hammer, which had fallen a ways away from him and was deactivated and small once more. He stared at it for a moment. It had very obviously acted on its own, without his guidance. And it had invoked a seal that he had never unlocked. He still had no idea which one—he'd have to see next time he used the Innocence—but it was obvious that it had healed him. He had survived the Akuma blood virus. Now, he was immune too.

It was all too strange to think about, so he stowed the hammer safely back in his pocket and tottered back to Yuu, his hip still burning. "Let's go." Now that the crisis was averted, all he wanted was to be away from this graveyard.

Due to his hip wound, he was moving considerably slower that Yuu was, which prompted many annoyed stops and loud sighs every few feet. Finally, Yuu just grabbed his arm and dragged him along.

"Damn, Yuu, that hurts. _Stop it!"_

"_Che_. It's your own damn fault for being caught off guard and attacked. How could you have been that stupid? You're supposed to be the one who notices everything."

"That skill's been going out the window lately. And besides, Yuu, look at where we are!"

"Yeah, I get it. A graveyard. Creepy. Should've kept your head still, _baka_."

Lavi stopped and dug his heels into the ground, forcing Kanda to stop as well. "No, Yuu. _Look_. Look at where we are."

He pointed to the gravestone below them.

It took Kanda a minute to process what he was seeing. When he did, he let go of Lavi's arm and stared, face blank and uncomprehending. He stayed that way for at least a minute before he at last turned to look at Lavi.

"That's my name."

Lavi nodded.

"What the hell."

"That's where they 'buried' your 'ashes'. I came here after you all died to say goodbye one last time. This is where I forced my mind to accept you were all dead. This is where I forced myself to forget that I once cared about you. _Now_ do you get why I was distracted, Yuu?"

"Don't call me that." But the protest was weak and meaningless. For the first time, as he stared at his own grave, Lavi thought that Kanda looked broken.

They stood there for another five minutes. Kanda let his eyes drift to the graves around him, never saying a word, just staring, the blank look still in place. This time, it was Lavi who took his arm and said that they should leave. It was Lavi who led them the rest of the way out of the cemetery, despite the fact that he could still barely walk.

Once they hit the street, Kanda seemed to come back to himself. He shrugged his arm out of Lavi's grasp and stepped up to the curb to hail a cab, something Lavi was immensely grateful for. He didn't think he could remember the way back to Lars's apartment, let alone walk all the way there.

"You okay?"

"_Che."_

He took that as a yes.

The ride back was uneventful. Kanda made Lavi pay the fee since "he didn't fucking ask to be dragged into this crap, anyway." Lavi didn't argue.

He wearily climbed the stairs ahead of Kanda and inserted the key Lars had given him into the lock. Stepping into the darkness of the hall, he allowed himself to relax slightly. He could sleep now, and hopefully forget some of what had happened, at least for a short while.

The relaxation was short lived. Almost as soon as he entered the hallway, he was hit by something heavy and slammed back into the wall, hitting his hip hard as it happened. It hurt so badly that he saw stars. He thought he might have cried out. Behind the ringing in his ears, he heard Kanda's annoyed "The fuck?"

Then he realized the thing pressing him into the wall was trembling. Trembling and…crying.

He heard Kanda fumbling with the light switch and swearing. The lamp overhead sputtered to life with a small "pop" and he saw Cassia, dressed in pajamas with epic bed head, pressed against him, hanging onto his borrowed shirt as though for dear life.

"Cassia! What—"

She looked up at him with frantic, bloodshot eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was stammering as she whispered:

"Lavi. Please. We have to go. Now. We have to go get him. He's going to die. Allen's dying."

* * *

><p><strong>Lars' or Lars's? Oh, nouns that end in s, I hate thee.<strong>

**NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE POSTED SOON! I PROMISE!**

**Review? Please?**


	17. The Lost and The Found

**Despite the fact that I've basically been planning out this action since I first started writing this fic, this chapter was insanely difficult for me to write. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldn't put it into the right words. I think it shows. This is definitely not the best chapter I've written, even though super important stuff is happening. So I apologize for my sudden lack in writing skills. To make up for it, I named the chapter again. Yeah. You're welcome.**

* * *

><p>THE LOST AND THE FOUND<p>

"Wha—what?" he stammered dumbly. It had been perfectly clear what she'd said, his mind just didn't want to process it.

She growled in frustration, tears still streaming down her face. "Allen Walker is dying!" She punctuated each word with a pound of her hand into his chest.

"What's going on?" Lenalee's voice. Cassia whirled. "Lenalee! Tell them we have to go find Allen! Now!"

Immediately, she turned to them. "We have to go find Allen. Now." Her voice was deadly serious. "What's happening?"

Cassia groaned and slid down to huddle in a heap at Lavi's feet. "He's dying. God, I can feel it! I can feel his body shutting down! They did things—they were angry because the 14th hasn't shown himself. So they did things—horrible things—in a last-ditch effort to get the 14th to come out and protect Allen."

"And did he?" asked Lavi softly, already knowing the answer.

"No," she whispered. "The 14th is gone. He is alone. They did things to him that only a Noah could survive. Special techniques. And now—_Oh God!_" She lurched forward and vomited, clawing at the carpet like a dying man. He crouched down to comfort her, but hardly dared touch her because of all the thrashing she was doing. She heaved again and he abruptly realized that nothing was coming out of her mouth. She was vomiting air.

Cassia ran her fingertips over her lips and brought the clean fingers up to eye level. She looked horrified by what she saw.

"Blood," she whispered, then pitched forward, shaking and clutching her middle.

Lavi stared at her, convulsing on the ground. Her Innocence was activated, sending tongues of bright, harmless flame across the carpet. It seemed cruel, that the Innocence could do this to her. It could be such a blessing. And such a cruel, cruel curse.

"Deactivate your Innocence, Cassia," he said into her ear. "Can you do that?"

"No…" she groaned. There were tears running down her cheeks. "He won't let me. He needs me to share his pain. I'll take it for him. Lavi," her hand shot up and gripped the neckline of his shirt, bringing him down even closer to her. "He doesn't have any hope left. I've tried to tell him we'll help, but he doesn't believe me. He knows he's dying. The least I can do is lessen the agony…_AHH!"_

She was gone again, her eyes unfocused. He could dimly hear Kanda swearing in the background, and Lenalee crying, but he tried to block it out. He had to think. Had to plan. They couldn't just barge into the Order and get him. They needed a plan…

A light came on down the hallway and Lars emerged from his room, pulling on a dressing gown as he did so. Behind him, his kind-faced wife, Mary, stared out at the scene in her hallway.

"What's happened?" Lars asked, a question on his face as he stared at Cassia. "Cassia! Are you alright?"

"It's Allen," Lavi said. "She's got some sort of connection with him, though their Innocence. She thinks he's dying."

"I don't _think_ he's dying, he _is_ dying, you idiot."

Lars stood openmouthed for a few seconds, then seemed to pull himself together. "That's impossible. They wouldn't kill Allen. They know he's too valuable. What with his Innocence, and the prophecy, and the Noah factor…"

"That's the problem," explained Lavi. "She says the Noah's no longer around. They've been trying different…techniques to get the 14th to show itself. It hasn't been working. And what they're doing is killing him."

"Lars," Cassia gasped. "We need to go. Now. Please."

He looked panicked. "Okay, okay. Let me think. We need a plan. We need something to go off of…we can't just barge in there…"

"I have a plan," Lavi said.

Lars stared at him. "But—"

"What do you think I've been doing while you've been talking?"

"You've been talking too, Usagi," Kanda growled.

"Yeah, but unlike the rest of you, I can talk and think at the same time." He winced. He was letting too much of the Bookman out. He made an attempt to curb the annoyance in his voice before continuing. "Someone get Sam up. Make sure he has all the tools he needs for a successful break-in. He is invaluable to our success. I assume he's done this sort of thing before?"

"Several times," Cassia groaned from the floor, her pain seemingly at a momentary lull. "He knows what to do."

"Wait," said Lars. "Your _plan_ is to have an amateur break you into the _Black Order headquarters?_ The _high security_ part of the Black Order headquarters?"

"Oh, don't worry," said Lavi, turning to him. "You'll help too."

Lars blanched, then nodded slowly.

He smiled grimly and started giving instructions.

* * *

><p>Lars had a blue smart car. Hardly ideal for six of them. With a disdainful <em>che<em>, Kanda claimed the front seat before the rest of them could react. That left the four of them to fight for space in a backseat meant for two. It was squished and uncomfortable, what with Cassia nearly unconscious, Lenalee sobbing, and Sam trying to manhandle a backpack full of "equipment". Luckily, the Order wasn't far away by car. Lars drove quickly, weaving the tiny car in and out of the streams of traffic that congested the busier streets, even at this hour of night. He pointed out the Order's main building, a grand old thing right next to Westminster. Then, surprisingly, he turned off the main road and began twisting the car through dingy alleys. He finally parked in one that barely allowed the car to fit, and pointed at the street at the end of it.

"If you follow that street, you'll end up at the back door of the Order buildings. It'll still be guarded, but it should be easier for you than the front entrance. Once you get past the entry hall, follow this map." He handed back a crudely drawn map with clear labels. "It'll take you down to the high security portion of the building, which is mostly underground. I'm assuming that's where Allen will be. As for how you'll get down there without being seen, well, I'm hoping Sam has some good tricks up his sleeve. I can't help you there. I can, however, give you this."

He passed a thin, laminated card to Lavi. "That's my old pass card. I have…friends still, in the Order, who have promised to keep this in working order even though I'm gone. I don't know if it'll get you into the high-security portion—they change the systems there so often—but it'll help you get through the halls _to_ the basement.

"I will stay right here until you come out. So remember which alley this is. And you'd _better _all come back. Allen included, I hope."

"Is that all?"

"I wish I could do more. But this is all I have. I wish you luck."

"Thank you."

"Take care of yourselves. I'll see you back here soon."

* * *

><p>The security guards were no big deal. Kanda snuck up behind them and knocked them out with the hilt of Mugen before any of the rest of them even realized they were there. Sam seemed unconcerned with the security cameras. He pushed one of the unconscious guards out of his seat in front of a monitoring computer, made a few clicks, ran a few pass codes, scrolled through some options, and proclaimed them "good for the next hour, probably." The entire thing took less than two minutes.<p>

"What did you do?" Lavi asked.

"I basically turned the cameras off, but then I set it so it would just replay the same footage from the last hour on the monitors, so no one'll get suspicious. Security guards don't _really_ pay attention after about two in the morning, anyway. Easy shit, Lion Man."

"You're insane."

"I try."

They followed Lars's map through a warren of dark corridors, lit dimly every few feet by the light of the moon shining through the large windows. Once, Lavi heard footsteps from far off and pushed everyone into a dark alcove. Peering out, he saw two people pass by, talking softly. One was wearing a sleek black uniform with a shiny silver Rose Cross on the shoulder.

Did that mean…?

The possibility of other exorcists out there had swum through his mind more than once over the past few days, but he'd dismissed it as being impossible. After all, he hadn't heard about any. Then again, he hadn't even known the Order was still in existence. It seemed possible—even probable—that there were other exorcists, especially now that the Innocence was confirmed to still exist.

His thoughts cast him into a reverie that resulted in Kanda pushing him and instructing him to "move your goddamn ass, _baka_."

Lars's pass card proved to work on the two locked doors they encountered, but most of the doors they went through were either unlocked or left open. Security seemed surprisingly blasé considering where they were, but Lavi assumed that it was because the Order hadn't had any threats for the last hundred years. Now that the Noah and Akuma were proven to be back, security was bound to tighten. They were lucky they'd made it in before that happened.

They were descending through sloped hallways and skinny staircases. And then, abruptly, there was a dead end. It looked as though this was the end of the original building's structure, but there was a small door embedded in the dark stone of the wall, shiny and high-tech looking, completely out of place in the gothic structure.

The door looked fairly impenetrable. It was very solid, with no window and barely any cracks, made out of some sort of high-tech metal. The barcode scanner light blinked on and off incessantly, like a sly green eye winking at them. _Go on,_ it seemed to say, _try me. You'll lose._

"You sure about this, Lion Man?" breathed Sam. "If this card is rejected, it'll send up red flags through their entire system. We'll be caught for sure."

Lavi swallowed. "It worked for the other two. We've gotta try, I mean, we don't have any better way to get in, do we?"

"Okay…" Sam held the card out to the scanner.

Nothing happened. The reader didn't click the door unlocked, nor did it set off the flashing lights and alarms that he felt sure would accompany the suspicion of an intruder.

"Nothing happened. What does that mean?" Lenalee whispered.

Sam just shrugged. "If we were caught, _something_ would be happening right now. The question is, how are we going to get in?" He checked his watch. "We're down fifteen minutes from when I set the cameras."

"I have an idea," said Cassia. She was still huddled on the floor, but she seemed more functional than before. He assumed this was because Allen's body was shutting down, and therefore he was beginning to feel less pain. Though this state made things better for Cassia, it did not bode well for Allen.

"Break down the door, Lavi. Use your hammer and break it down."

"Uh," Sam raised his hand as though he were in class. "Just wanna point out that that'll _definitely _set off some alarms."

Cassia banged the back of her head on the wall. "Sam. That little box there is nothing but a _computer_. You just rewired an entire security system, for God's sake! Figure out what trips the alarm and _shut if off!_"

Sam looked infuriated. "For one thing, the security system was amateur. Any idiot who knows the first thing about breaking and entering could have figured that one out. Secondly, this equipment here is super high tech. It'll probably trip an alarm if I so much as _breathe_ too much on it—"

"Sam." She was crying again, a single tear tracing its way down her jaw from her tightly closed eye. "Do you have a better idea? Do _any_ of you have a better idea? We have forty minutes. Unless we can get him medical attention, Allen will probably die within the next hour, hour and a half at the most. Please. Try."

* * *

><p>Sam wasn't a bad kid. In fact, he was a really good one. A parent's dream. He aimed high, achieved lots, and never seemed to get tired of it. Of course, like most teenagers, he led a secret life that his parents were oblivious to.<p>

Sam had a lot of energy. He needed something other than school to focus some of it on. Something to do at two in the morning when all his homework was done and he was still wide awake. So he taught himself Java, and then, when that wasn't enough, all the other top programming languages. He was writing programs on par with Microsoft by eighth grade. But that wasn't enough. So he started to hack into things. It was easy to be smarter and more creative than the people doing the initial programming. He already was. Name any password-encrypted database accessible on the web, Sam had probably accessed it. And made a couple of changes to its layout.

Eventually, even that got too boring. Too predictable. So he turned to the real-world version of hacking. Breaking and entering. Now _that_ never got boring. It was a puzzle every time, a puzzle practically _designed_ for him to crack. And again, he only needed to be smarter and more creative than the original developers. He almost always was.

He never broke into places for the sake of stealing. The thought abhorred him. He did it because he reveled in the thrill of being in a place he shouldn't have been able to get himself into. Occasionally, he'd break into a classmate's house when he knew they were out of town and steal the most embarrassing thing he could find—an extra-large bottle of lube, perhaps, or a secret stash of porn movies—and then slip them into said classmate's backpack when he or she returned to school. He loved the look of unbridled horror that would briefly grace the face of one who reached into a bag for a well-worn copy of _Crime and Punishment_ and instead found _Shirtless in Seattle_ at his fingertips.

Most often, however, he went to places he could find peace. Libraries were good. So were tall bank or office buildings. He liked riding the elevator all the way to the top floor and staring out the windows at the night city moving below him. Avoiding the security guards was a nice extra challenge.

His absolute favorite places were the museums. He would go down to the storage rooms and vaults and walk silently through the darkness, surrounded by the mysteries newly discovered or yet unsolved, and those too old to matter any longer.

Those nights were his favorites. Those were the nights he could calm his racing heart and twitching muscles and be at peace. Those were the nights he could feel fully pleased with his accomplishments.

In reality, Sam was a parent's worst nightmare. Were he ever caught at any of the things he did; he would be in serious trouble. All his parent's plans for him—and the plans he made for himself—would go down the drain.

But Sam never got caught. He was too damn smart.

He had told very few people about this secret life he led in the early hours of the morning. Cassia was one of the few. It was looking like that had been a major mistake.

He was in deeper shit than he'd ever been in before. Yeah, he'd broken into museums, banks, courthouses, law offices, and libraries. Jails? Please. Major government headquarters? Forget about it. He didn't have a death wish. Jails in _t__op secret_ major government headquarters that didn't technically exist? You're joking, right?

All of this because he'd tried to help out the new kid.

He stared at the card scanner as though it was his archenemy. _It's just a computer,_ he tried to tell himself. _Computers bend to my will like girls bend to the will of a buff quarterback_.

And yeah, it was just a computer. At once a ridiculously simple and amazingly complex one. He'd dealt with card scanners before, of course, but somehow he thought the card scanner on the door leading to the maximum security compound of a top secret organization would be harder to turn off than one leading to the upper-floor director offices in a library.

He looked over to Cassia, huddled miserably up against the wall. He still didn't understand. Magic and evil and people coming back from the dead sounded more like plot points in a video game than real life. But it was Cassia. They had been helping each other through life since seventh grade. He really didn't have a choice this time around. Or any time around.

"If we're still alive after this," he growled at Cassia. "I'm going to crush every goddamn bone in your body."

She chucked slightly. "Like you'd have the strength, geek-wad."

He took out his Swiss Army knife and gently nudged out the miniscule screws holding the plates of the reader together. Once the intimidating cover with its scary blinking light was off, he was met with the comforting circuitry and wiring of the digital age. He gave a great sigh, and, holding his breath, began to work.

* * *

><p>She closed her eyes and tried to drown out the voices. Sam was muttering under his breath as he fiddled with the door. Lavi was humming absently, off key, in a near monotone. Lenalee was still sniffling every few seconds. Kanda was the only one who was silent. She wished they were all like him—stoic assholes who never made a sound unless they absolutely needed to. It would give her mind the quiet it so desperately craved to focus on the one thing that needed to be focused on—Allen.<p>

His presence was becoming more distant in her mind as he presumably got closer to passing out and dying. She wondered which would come first.

But she needed information before she could let him sink into the oblivion he was probably craving.

"Allen," she thought. "Allen. Please. I need you to listen."

_Can't…don't want…anymore._

"I know. But you have to. We're coming. You have to believe me, we're coming to get you out of there, but I need your help if we're going to find you.

_Dying_.

"No. You won't. But I need you to help me. For just a few more minutes, can't you do that?"

_Then…rest?_

"Yes. All the rest you want, I promise. You'll be safe."

She felt guilty promising such a thing when so many parts of their plan were liable to go wrong, but she knew it was the only way to give him enough energy to keep talking to her.

_Okay…_

"Okay. I need you to think back to when they first brought you to where you are now. Can you do that?"

_I…I don't…_

"Allen! You have to do this!" She cringed at the way her voice sounded, projected through her mind. She sounded cruel. "I'm sorry, Allen. But please. Try. I'm sure you were paying attention at the time. Take yourself back to that point. It won't be so painful."

There was a breathless gasp from Allen, and then he was speaking to her more clearly than he'd ever sounded since she'd started communicating with him.

_I…I remember…I'm confused. Just was _here_. Don't remember anything, nothing but…nothing but the girl. Long black hair._

_They were looking and asking…didn't understand. Then…walking, forced to walk. Didn't want to. Wanted to stay until I could remember. But down…down, down, down._

A choked gasp. His voice was back to the broken, cracked thing it had been before. _Hurts…please…stop questions._

"It's alright, Allen. You were doing good." Dimly, she realized that she was speaking aloud. All of her companions but Sam were staring at her as though she'd gone mad.

But she couldn't pay attention to them. She had to focus. Focus.

"The room where they took you…was there a number on it? Beside it? Think back, Allen."

_Help_.

"I'm trying, Allen. Please. Allen." Her repeated speaking of his name seemed to calm him somewhat. He had apparently gained back enough cognition, even this state he was in, to realize it belonged to him.

_It's...small…small and white. Hardly can see it, except for the number. The number. Black. On the door._

"Right," she muttered, sighing. At last, they were getting somewhere. "Visualize those numbers, Allen. The only things that define that door. How many digits were there? Two? Three? One? Four? Visualize it, Allen."

_I…t-three._

"Okay. Okay. Keep them in your head. Without them, that door is nothing. It has no meaning without the numbers. Remember them. Now…what was the first digit?"

A strangled sob. He was crying. She felt terrible. _Two. It was two._

"Okay. Okay, Allen. Allen—calm down."

She waited a moment. His breathing became slightly more regular.

"The second digit."

_T-two_.

She frowned. Had the second digit really been a two, or was he getting confused?

"The second digit, Allen. The one after the first two. What was it?"

_Two! Please! Two! Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, two…_

_Fuck, fuck, fuck,_ she cursed at herself. She was making things worse.

"Allen, calm down. Please. Everything's fine. I'm not mad. This is helping. What you are remembering is helping. We will find you. You will be safe. Now I have just one more question. The third digit. The one after the two twos. What was it?"

_I…I don't…I can't. Nothing. Two twos and another..._

She sighed in frustration. She'd been _so close_, and then she'd messed it up. Now they'd have to try every door that started with "22" and waste valuable time.

But wait. She could narrow it down further. If he could just remember one small detail.

"That's alright, Allen. Just one thing. The number. Even or odd?"

His answer was the surest and most immediate he'd given the entire conversation. _Even. Made me feel better…evens…I like…nice._

He trailed off and didn't speak again. She couldn't hear his breathing anymore, and, for a moment, she panicked, thinking he'd died, died when they were so close to him. But no, his presence was still there, his Innocence still active. He was simply unconscious, faded into oblivion. It was probably better for him there. She certainly felt better, no longer sharing his pain.

She opened her eyes tiredly, seeing them all staring at her. "We're looking for an even, three-digit room number. First two digits are 22. And, I know I keep saying this, but we _really_ need to hurry."

* * *

><p>Sam stepped away from the door, wiping sweat off his brow.<p>

"I bought some time. Don't know how long. At least ten minutes. I shifted the chip that I _think_ directs the alarm, so it'll only recognize a message from the rest of the device after it's been giving it off for awhile. Like I said, though, dunno if it'll work the way I think it will, or for how long."

"So should I…" Lavi fingered his hammer and nodded toward the door.

"Go for it, Lion Man. Try and do it in one smash."

He extended the hammer, feeling the thrum of happiness that its activation still brought. He zeroed his sights on the door and _smashed_ for all he was worth.

He'd always been good at destroying things. It had driven Komui mad because he'd always had to pay for damage repair. He hadn't lost his talent. The door, high-tech impenetrable metal and all, crumpled inward under his blow, leaving a sizable gap that they would be able to squeeze through.

Everyone froze for a moment after his action, waiting for sirens to blare and give them away. None did.

_Sam's a fucking genius,_ Lavi thought to himself. _He's even better than I am._

"Okay," Cassia said. She was standing now, swaying rather drunkenly, but managing to stay on her feet. "Let's go."

They slipped through the doorway.

The hallway they entered was austere, disconcertingly so. White. Everything was white. The walls, the tile floor, the ceiling, the small doors set at regular intervals along the walls. The only deviances were the tiny black numbers on each door.

Cassia sighed with relief as she saw them. It seemed they were in the right place. She had to get up close to even read the tiny numbers, but when she could her spirits fell slightly. _101_. They were in triple digits, at least, but they still had a ways to go. She looked down the hallway. It stretched on endlessly, eventually fading into an incomprehensible blur of white.

"He's down there," she said, pointing.

"We need to hurry," reminded Sam.

"Let's just get the _baka_ and get out of here," growled Kanda.

They ran.

* * *

><p>She could feel him.<p>

The feeling had grown stronger since they landed in London. And now, running closer and closer to where he was, she felt her heart lighten with every step she took. Soon, this madness would be over. Soon, she would understand. Understand why her name was Lenalee. Understand why Lavi and Kanda knew who she was when she herself didn't. Understand why her heart ached for the nameless, faceless silhouettes that crowded her head. Understand the incomprehensible power that thrummed through the thin red bands that refused to come off her ankles. Soon.

They were getting closer.

As soon as she saw him, Allen, the only one who mattered. As soon as she held him in her arms. As soon as this happened, everything would make sense.

_So close._

"Stop!" Cassia called from behind. Everyone slowed to a halt, panting. "Room 220," she said, pointing.

"An even number in the 220s," said Kanda scathingly. "_Che_. So you just expect us to break into all five possibilities?"

"Well," Cassia said. "I was going to knock on them and then ask him if he heard me, but…oh, shit. He passed out. _Dammit!"_ She slammed her fist into one of the doors and the sound reverberated hollowly.

"Nice going, _baka_," said Kanda. "Now what?"

She felt him. He was so close. Her heart thrummed in her chest and her feet moved of their own accord, further down the hall.

They stopped her in front of a door. Her heart was pounding. It wanted to be whole. She rested her head on the cool, white surface of the door and _felt him_.

"Allen," she whispered.

The harsh light of the hallway glimmered dully off of the tiny black numbers: 226.

"He's in here," she said at once, completely certain and terribly impatient. "He's here."

They were silent a moment. Then Lavi asked, "So how are we going to get into this one?"

Her Allen was here. So close. She needed him. She needed to understand.

All at once, she knew _exactly_ what the odd anklets were for. They thrummed to life, filling her with power and an odd sense of joy. She'd _missed_ them. The anklets spread, their red material incasing her legs almost to her hips, glowing strangely. She should have been surprised. Maybe even terrified. She wasn't. These were going to help her.

There was one lousy piece of metal between her and Allen. And she wasn't going to let it separate them for one second longer.

Lenalee lifted her right boot, twisted her body around, and kicked.

* * *

><p>They weren't paying attention to what Lenalee was doing, or, at the very least, Lavi wasn't. He was trying to think of a way they could break into Allen's room in the next five minutes and get him out of the building before their hour ran out or he died. Whichever came first.<p>

He was pretty preoccupied. So the explosion that came from behind him was a bit of a surprise.

He was pushed to the ground by the force of it, plaster and metal bits raining down on him. When he finally managed to open his eyes, all he could see was dust. Sam groaned beside him. "Well, that blew our cover."

He squinted and dimly perceived a glow through the dust. Fighting his way to his feet, he made his way to the crude hole that now gaped in the wall. A silhouette was leaning over something on a table. A silhouette wearing very tall, very sexy boots.

It took him only a moment to realize what she'd done. Half of him wanted to congratulate her, the other half wanted to strangle her. She'd certainly solved the dilemma of _how_ they would get him out. The question now: would they be fast enough?

Her face turned and she saw him standing in the doorway. "Lavi," she said helplessly. "Help me." Cautiously, he approached, crunching rubble under his boots. Part of him shied away from seeing what lay beneath Lenalee's worried gaze. He was happy in his ignorance. He didn't want to know what Central had done. And then, he was standing next to Lenalee, staring at the pale, blank face of Allen Walker.

He was naked; strapped to the table so thoroughly that Lavi doubted he would be free to so much as twitch. He was covered in more cuts, abrasions, and needle tracks than Lavi cared to count, and his face was whiter than the walls, whiter even than his hair which hung lank and dirty over his forehead.

_Silver hair and silver eyes and blood blood blood, red on white and lying still like this, clothes in ragged ruin, nearly naked, oh _god_, no, not again, please, he'd watched him die once, not again, not again…_

"Usagi!" The sharp voice pulled him out of the memory. Yuu. "Focus."

"Hurry," came Sam's whisper from the door.

Cassia had pulled off her scarf to cover Allen's dignity, and she was now standing at his head, ear down close to his mouth, listening to his breathing. Lavi's gaze drifted to Allen's chest. Thin, much too thin, most of his muscle mass gone. He could see every rib, every hollow of his stomach. Everything the same horrific, deathly pallor. The only sign of life was the rise and fall of his chest—slight, so very slight, and heartbreakingly uneven. But there. It was there.

Lenalee was clutching his hand, staring mutely at his slack face. Kanda pulled out Mugen and tried to cut Allen's bonds, but the restraints deflected the katana, sending the tip of the blade towards Lavi's face. A sharp, stinging line traced itself across his cheekbone.

"Damn," Kanda hissed. "The things are Innocence-resistant." He stormed off to where Sam was standing uncertainly by the door.

"Is he even alive?" asked Lenalee. "I can't…his pulse…"

"He's alive," assured Cassia. She placed her finger in the middle of the pentacle that stood out blood red on Allen's forehead. "I can feel it. You'd be able to feel it, too, Lenalee, if he was dead, what with the connection you have."

Sam appeared beside him, wielding his Swiss Army knife. He began hacking frantically at the bonds that held Allen in place.

_Too slow,_ Lavi thought. _We're too slow. They know we're here. They'll be here any second_.

As if on cue, he heard footsteps, and then a strangled cry from Kanda, the likes of which he had never heard, nor would have expected to hear coming from the Japanese man's lips. He cursed.

"Keep cutting, Sam. Get him free. Then go." He made his way to the door, clutching his activated Innocence, and peeked out.

Kanda was on his knees, glaring murderously up at his captors. His arm and sword were bound with a thousand tiny papers, each covered in minuscule writing: Chinese characters, Japanese kanji, the lilting flow of Arabic. More floated around him, immobilizing him. Another was over his mouth. Unable to move, unable to speak. Lavi knew that, when he was free, Kanda would cheerfully and mercilessly kill the people who had caused him this humiliation.

Lavi recognized the magic. Crow. Designed to combat both Innocence and Dark Matter. It had been too much to hope that the magic had died out over the past century.

"There are more in the room," said a gruff voice. "Go get rid of 'em. Be quick about it."

Ducking behind the wall, he sent his hammer out in a blind swing. He heard a satisfying crunch and a grunt of pain. Relying on the still-dusty air to mask him from view, he darted to the other side and struck out again. A crash, but no sounds of pain this time. Damn.

"He's right there."

Cursing, he looked behind him. Sam was still determinedly hacking away at Allen's bonds. They needed more time. He had to give it to them.

He summoned the fire seal. The flames swirled around him, comforting, heating his face and blocking his friends from the door where the Crow members would enter. The first foot was poking its way through the gap in the wall. He twitched his fingers. The fire jumped forward. There was a human scream. He allowed himself a small smile.

Then he felt the first charmed paper adhere itself to his arm.

_No._

_Innocence, please._

_Please don't desert me._

He jumped away, a flurry of charms flying past him. He sent the fire out again, noticeably weaker this time, but still functioning.

Another paper joined the first.

"Hurry!" he bellowed, then moved out toward the door. He was putting himself in a more direct line of fire, but if he could distract them long enough, maybe they could get Allen free and sneak out without the Crow and whoever was directing them noticing.

There were six of them out there, two of them crumpled on the ground, one of them smoldering slightly. One stood over Yuu, making sure he didn't try to get free. The other three stood directly in front of him. They looked rather surprised that he had made himself so vulnerable, more surprised as he sent the fire directly at them, but they managed to block the weakened attack fairly easily. Charms were papering his arm; he could no longer lift his Innocence to control the fire, and it began to die, burning weakly and moving sluggishly across the stained tiles. But no…he couldn't let them…not yet.

He lunged sideways, dragging his hammer with him so that the fire corralled the Crow in his direction, away from the door. Using his other hand, he tore a handful of papers from his arm, yelling as he did so. It hurt, hurt more than it should have, as though he was tearing bits of his own skin off rather than scraps of paper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them emerge from the doorway, Allen's limp body draped over Cassia's shoulders, and he redoubled his efforts, raising his hammer with massive effort and sending the flames in all their strength straight at the middle Crow's chest. The man fell, smoking, beside his comrades.

Then Lavi felt something slap over his mouth, restricting his voice, limiting his breathing, and he knew that, at least for him, it was over. The fire died away and his hammer fell from his limp fingers, clattering to the ground, unreachable.

The remaining Crow looked murderous now. One of them stepped close and clubbed him over the head, hard. He slumped to the ground. He could barely draw enough breath to keep from passing out.

"They went that way," the other one barked, pointing down the hallway. "Follow them. Get him back. Kill the others if you need to."

Two Crow ran in the direction the one had pointed. He had not given them enough time to get far enough away. They would be caught. And here he lay, helpless to do anything about it.

He wanted to yell. Cry. Curse. Do _something._ But he couldn't. He was trapped in this web of spells. And it was all for nothing.

Then, a figure stepped out of the dust. Legs spread wide, hands clenched in fists, blocking the pathway of the two men. Lenalee.

"I will not let you take him from me again," she said, voice low and dangerous, not at all like the pleasant, kind Lenalee he knew.

And then she _moved_.

He thought it rather pathetic that the thing he paid the most attention to was the fact that her legs were just as sexy as ever. He attributed it to the fact that very little oxygen was actually making it to his brain. It only had enough power to focus on one thing. If that thing was the pleasant views he was getting of Lenalee's legs, then so be it.

She was like some vengeful goddess of the air, immune to the effects of gravity, horror and beauty mixing on her face in her anger. Though the two remaining Crow sent spell after spell after her, she evaded them all, driving them back, giving Cassia and Sam more time.

She kicked on of them hard in the face and he flew backward, hitting a wall hard. Lavi heard a distinct crack, and, as the man slid to the floor, noticed that his neck was twisted at an awkward angle. He stared, disbelieving, at the body. Sweet, kind, loving Lenalee had just _killed_ someone, not a Noah or an Akuma, but someone who _should_ have been on their side. She hadn't blinked an eye. True, they were fighting for their—Allen's—lives, but still. Lenalee? Had they done something to change her as she slept?

She hadn't even spared a glance toward the fallen one. She was now fighting one on one with the last Crow. There were a few charm papers stuck to her, but she seemed no worse for the wear. Her eyes were glinting with anger and she seemed even more determined than he had been, ready to kill and be killed to ensure Allen's safety.

She had the man pinned, her boot on his chest, and was snarling at him in a very un-Lenalee-like manner. "Take the charms off my friends. Now. Or I will kill you."

He looked as though he was beginning to asphyxiate, but he still shook his head and gasped out a whimpered "No". She pressed down harder on his chest, snarling, and his eyes began to roll back in his head.

Lavi had no doubt that she would do it. Crush the breath out of the man as he watched her. Half of him didn't want her to, despite what the man and his comrades had done. But she didn't have a chance to, anyway.

He'd forgotten—they'd all forgotten—about the last Crow. The one who had been restraining Kanda. Lavi didn't see him behind her until it was too late, not that he would have been able to warn her if he had.

She gave a small cry as she was grabbed and restrained by a hundred papers wrapped around her legs and arms. The man under her boot scrambled away, clutching his chest and gasping.

"He couldn't have let them go even if he wanted to. I'm the one holding them. They cast the spells. I bind and hold them. And you cannot convince me to let them go. Game's over, little girl. You all played well. But you lost."

Lenalee's head drooped down to her chest in defeat. "Allen…"

"Oh, don't worry," said the man, flipping her around and shoving her toward Lavi and Kanda. "We'll catch him, too. And your other two friends. We went a little far with him, I admit. I doubt he'll make it…its really all the Noah's fault. I mean, we could save him if we tried, but without the Noah, he's rather worthless, don't you think? But we know what works now…and we won't make the same mistakes with all of you."

Lenalee screamed, loud, anguished, and furious. She thrashed against her bindings, against the man's hands pushing her forward. The man laughed.

"I am the binder," he whispered. "You are powerless against me." He threw her down and she landed half in Lavi's lap, twisted and uncomfortable-looking. Her eyes drifted up to his, huge and full of tears. "I'm sorry," she mouthed, and then the paper was over her mouth and it was over.

He could only hope that Cassia and Sam could run fast. Judging by the lead Crow's certainty of voice, however, they would be caught by other forces that had been sent out to intercept them. None of them would make it back to that tiny car waiting in the back alley. Instead, they would rot here, tortured and tested, until the Order decided they'd gotten enough out of them and send them off to get killed in some hopeless battle without Allen by their sides.

Losing hope was easy and surprisingly painless.

The Crow was walking toward them, pulling out a radio to speak into and holding a knife outstretched, for what, Lavi didn't know. It wasn't as though any of them could move against him.

He looked down at Lenalee and gave her a small smile, hoping it translated to his eye because his mouth was still tightly sealed shut. Then he closed his eye and turned his head away from what the man was doing. He didn't want to see it anymore. He focused on drawing in enough breath through his nose. In. Hold steady. Out. Wait. Back in.

He was tired, he realized. Tired of death. Tired of the life that always led to death. He was so tired.

He closed his eye tighter, willing away the cracks of light that still slipped in. Yuu's eyes were probably wide open. Lenalee's too. They weren't cowards.

He was.

He was breaking.

* * *

><p>So this was it, then? He would become the Order's pawn once more, trapped in their endless web of empty promises, lies, and proclamations?<p>

It had disturbed him, the fact he was alive, because he was tired of not being allowed to die. But once he fully regained his memoires and realized he _wasn't_ back in the Order, that they were on their own, not so tightly controlled, he'd felt better. He had Mugen. He had enemies. He had the _baka _Usagi. He had soba. He could live with it. He could fight, so long as he wasn't a pawn.

He'd die before he was theirs again. And that was what he planned to do. He'd have a chance eventually. And he'd take it. And finally, _finally_, he'd win. And they would lose.

He glanced over to where the Usagi lay. His eye was closed and he was turned away from the Crow. Coward. A warrior never closed his eyes on the enemy. And he never_, ever_ turned away.

Closer inspection showed that the Usagi was bad off, though, worse certainly than he or Lenalee. Blood stained his head and his arm where he'd pulled the handful of charms off of himself. It was clear he wasn't getting enough air—he was panting through his nose and paper white. And there was blood staining the white tile under his hip.

He'd noticed the wound when he first found the Usagi unconscious in the graveyard. It had been fairly large, bleeding rapidly, yet it had closed even as Kanda watched. It had something to do with the green light that had surrounded him with those weird, sinuous tendrils. It was too much like the lotus curse. But the lotus curse had always healed completely, and the Usagi had walked with a limp even after it closed. And now it was bleeding again.

He shuddered, an odd feeling welling up inside of him. Worry. He, Kanda Yuu, was worried about that _baka_.

If they got out of this mess, the only way Kanda would willingly return to Central would be to strangle whatever idiot scientist had reset his brain to living. Because they'd sure as hell messed it up.

The Crow man was fiddling with the radio, calling for backup, probably to come haul them away.

Fuck. He didn't want to. He didn't want to be trapped again. He needed to escape. He couldn't.

The man clicked off the radio and moved a step closer to him, smiling horribly. "I see you are panicked, pretty boy. You shouldn't be. Our hospitality really is quite stellar here. I think you'll find yourself very…comfortable." His hand shot out, reaching to touch Kanda's hair. He tried to recoil, to do _something_, but he couldn't. He was helpless. The man's smile widened.

And then, something poked out of him. Something small, sharp, and very shiny. Something with a tiny smear of crimson on the tip.

In that moment, the world went silent. With a shocked expression, the man lifted a hand and gently touched the blade protruding from his chest. His mouth opened in surprise and a trickle of blood—small, considering the place he'd been stabbed—dripped over his lip and onto Kanda's upturned cheek. The man lost his grip on the radio, and it fell.

The crash of the radio hitting the ground ended the unnatural silence. All of a sudden, he could hear, hear everything, the choked gasps from the man, the sound of someone crying, the pitter of falling blood, Lavi's wheezy breathing.

The Crow fell in slow motion, first to his knees, still clutching his chest, then forward, collapsing partially onto Kanda. He could feel the blood soaking through his pants. His fall revealed Sam, standing like a statue, hand locked around his bloody Swiss Army knife. His face was a mask of shock, pale, spattered with blood, tears running down his cheeks. He looked at the knife in his hand and his fingers loosened, letting it fall to rest beside its victim as he backed away, hands held in front of him as though to reject what he'd done, reject the entire situation.

The man gave another terrible, choked gasp, and then stopped breathing. Abruptly, Kanda realized that his restraints were fading; he could _move_, and he scrambled away from the man's dead weight, letting him fall the rest of the way to the floor. He was breathing heavily through his mouth and he realized that he, too, hadn't been getting enough oxygen.

Lenalee jumped up and reached out to comfort Sam, her previous terrifying anger forgotten. The Usagi simply fell forward, breathing in great gasps, hands clutched around his throat.

Kanda heaved himself up with the help of the wall and, grasping Mugen tightly once more, made his way over to the other.

"Oi, Usagi." He prodded him with his toe. "You alright?"

Lavi opened his eye and grinned slightly. Kanda felt uncalled for relief. If the _baka_ could grin like the _baka _he was, he had to be okay.

""M fine, Yuu."

"_Che_. Then get the hell up."

The red head gripped the wall and attempted to stand, but fell back, his eye dazed and glassy. "Think…you could help me…Yuu-chan?"

"Only if you never call me that again."

Lenalee was gently berating Sam. "I told you to stay with Cassia! It's more dangerous for you here!"

"She told me to come back here. She had…fire coming out of her arm. I couldn't argue." He put his head in his hands and groaned. "I should have stayed with her…I can't believe…can't believe I…"

"Shush," she said, taking him gently by her hand. "It's alright. Think about it later."

"That guy was calling for backup," Lavi croaked, finally standing all the way up, leaning heavily on both the wall and Kanda. "We shouldn't be here when they come."

"Then let's stop talking and fucking_ go._"

They moved off, Lenalee still holding Sam's hand tightly in her own. Kanda glanced back to see if the Usagi needed help. He seemed to have gained back enough equilibrium to limp on his own.

And so he left him behind.

That was a mistake.

* * *

><p>The world was pulsing around him, too soft and blurry to be real. His head hurt. His arm hurt, and he could see blood pouring out of it where a large patch of skin was missing, as though it had been pulled off. And his hip was bleeding. He'd thought it had healed, but no, there was blood coming out of it, too. He could barely walk, let alone run as they were, but he kept his eyes trained on Yuu's swinging hair and tried to ignore the pain. Everything was just white, white tile, white doors. It was fading into a blur that he couldn't escape from, and Yuu's hair was the only thing that proved he wasn't just floating in nothingness.<p>

Despite the fact that he was running as fast as he possibly could, the hair was getting further away. He had to go faster. He had to ignore it. It didn't matter if it hurt. He didn't want to be trapped here any longer.

Footsteps echoed off the walls behind him. They were getting closer by the second. Faster. Or was he going slower? He couldn't tell.

Yuu glanced back with a worried sort of expression that didn't belong on his face. He gave him a reassuring smile. Yuu frowned, but turned and kept running. The footsteps were louder. He had to go faster. Why was everything so blurry? Why did he hurt? Why was his breath coming in such painful gasps? Why wasn't he going faster?

They were shouting behind him. "There they are! Go faster!"

_No, don't go faster. Stop. I don't want to be here._

He heard Lenalee shout from ahead, "Almost there?" Her voice was far-off and it echoed. Kanda was coming to a turn, where another corridor intersected with the one they ran through. He knew that the door that would get them out of this white hell was right ahead of that turn.

"Go!" Lenalee's voice again. "Allen! Hang on!"

He risked a glanced behind him. He could clearly see the people chasing him; he could make out the facial features of the one in the lead.

Yuu had disappeared around the corner. He no longer had the black anchor. He was drowning, drowning in this sea of white…

"Allen!"

"Get them!"

"That one's bleeding."

If they caught him, would that be enough? He was a Bookman, he could tell them more than any of the others could. Would they be satisfied? If they caught him, would they let the others go?"

He slowed. He was so tired.

If he was caught, and if he gave them a fight for even two more minutes, he could give the others enough time. Enough time to get out, to go back to that blue car in the alleyway, to save Allen. It wouldn't be that much of a loss. Him in exchange for Allen. Allen was the one who mattered in this war.

He stopped. Turned around to face those running towards him. He had left a crimson trail of blood, like breadcrumbs. An angry wound in the white of the corridor.

He would have never done this before. He would have fought for his friends, yes. But given himself up to save them? No. It wouldn't have been allowed. But now…if this would save them, it would make up for what he hadn't done in that last battle. It would make up for all the things he didn't do to defend them. It would make up for his cowardice. It would make up for their deaths. It would make up for the fact that he had lived.

A flurry of charm papers flew toward him. He didn't try to avoid them. He felt them hit, the immediate heaviness they caused throughout his body. He didn't try to tear them off. He had to wait, wait till they were on top of him, then fight. Fight for just a few minutes longer.

The first one was almost upon him. He lunged forward with his entire body, crashing into him, sending them both to the ground. He couldn't move his arms, so he kneed the man as hard as he could in the crotch. There was a loud groan from below him and the man went limp. He struggled back to his feet as the others surrounded him. There were too many to hold off for long, but he knew that he only needed to for a few more minutes. Then he could rest. Finally, rest.

"_Usagi! _What the hell are you _doing_?"

He twisted his neck around the man he was struggling against. He had hoped Kanda wouldn't notice he was no longer following him. No such luck.

"_Go! _Don't help me! _RUN, Yuu!"_

"If you think I'm going to let you be a fucking martyr, you're wrong!"

One of the men surrounding Lavi looked toward where Kanda stood at the intersection of the corridors. "I'll go get him," he growled.

_No. He's not going to be caught, too._

He wrenched his arm with all his strength out of the spell and away from his captors, throwing his body forward to grasp the back of the man's collar. He crashed to the ground as Lavi was grabbed again.

"Yuu! If you don't leave now I'm going to _murder_ you!"

"Get him under control!"

There was an astounding amount of pain in the back of his head. He couldn't move anymore. His body looked like a mummy when he looked down at it, so wrapped was it in the Crow enchantments.

He locked eyes with Yuu one more time.

"Please." His voice wasn't even a whisper. It was too hoarse from yelling and screaming to make a sound. But Kanda understood. He gritted his teeth. Shook his head.

And then disappeared around the corner.

"_Shibari-bane_," someone whispered from above him. A glowing circle of seals wrapped itself around his upper body. A charm slapped over his mouth again, restricting his breathing. He couldn't even twitch. The entire world was fuzzy, fading in and out. He wanted it to be over. Yuu was gone. They were all gone. He didn't want to fight anymore.

A hazy face swam into his field of vision. "Is he still awake?"

"Yeah, his eye's open. Weird. That blow you gave him should have knocked him cold."

"Ah, well. Give him another little tap. We want him out of it. Wanna make sure he can't fight his way out of these bindings. He's too strong for his own good…"

A booted foot swung towards his face, as if in slow motion. He didn't want it to connect, but he couldn't move. Couldn't think anymore.

There was a brief, blinding flash of pain in his temple, and then the white was gone and there was only peaceful darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>Me disculpo. Son muchos errores. Es muy tarde.<strong>

**Oh, Lavi. How cruel I am to you. I laugh at your pain.**

**OOC Lenalee, I know. I had to make her show her tough side at least once. And Kanda too. There's a reason for that.**

**I know nothing about hacking, computer programming, or breaking and entering. Everything in this chapter I got either from The Greatest Book On Earth**_** The Geeks' Guide to World Domination**_**, or Wikipedia. Or I made it up.**

**Don't expect an update for awhile because I am GOING ON VACATION! Goodbye, crappy city that I live in! Hello, backpacking and no internet!**

**Review. This chapter is 24 pages long. There should be plenty for you to comment on.**


	18. Liminal Pilgrims

LIMINAL PILGRIMS

He was heavy on her back, a dead weight dragging her down. His limp arm dangled, bumping her hip with every step she took, and his barely-there breath in her ear was her only indication he was still alive.

She hadn't carried anyone on piggyback like this for years, not since the neighborhood kids she'd once babysat had been small enough for her meager strength to handle.

What scared her was that Allen was lighter than many of them had ever been.

She'd told Sam to leave, not because she didn't want him with her, but because she wasn't sure she could defend herself and Allen as well as he were they attacked. Her Innocence was activated, stronger than she'd ever felt, forming an undulating ring of flame around them. It was all rather conspicuous.

And yet, no one stopped them. She heart footsteps coming from behind her, screams and shouting. But she never saw anyone.

She reached the crumpled doorway and squeezed through, pushing Allen out ahead of her. She was panting heavily and she allowed herself to lean against the wall for a moment, staring down at Allen's face. There was a trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. She cursed and knelt down next to him, wiping at the blood with her scarf. "Hang on, Allen. Can you hear me?" She tried to reach out to him with her mind, but the connection was gone. She felt nothing of him. Not his consciousness, not his Innocence. Nothing.

She took off her jacket and wrapped him in it. At least he was trembling. He was alive enough to feel cold, or pain, or whatever it was. Or maybe he was just having a seizure. She wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

Shouting. Screams. Footsteps. Getting louder. Beside her, Allen choked on his breath, more blood running out of his mouth.

Lenalee's scream rang out. "Almost there!" She burst out of the doorway, pulling Sam by the hand. Falling down on her knees, she took Allen's blank face between her hands. "Allen!" She wiped the blood off his face tenderly, whispering "Hold on."

Sam's face was paper white, devoid of expression, eyes staring straight ahead. Cassia stood and grabbed his shoulder. "Sam! You alright?"

He simply pushed her hand off and turned away. She decided not to push it and instead asked, "Where're Kanda and Lavi?"

He gestured with a limp hand. "Behind."

"He's not breathing anymore," Lenalee whispered, horrified. "Allen!" She took him by the shoulders and shook him, his head bouncing sickly against the ground, nerveless and boneless. Cassia dropped down next to her again. "Don't shake him like that! You'll hurt him more!"

She turned to Sam, still standing limply, staring at nothing. "Sam! You had CPR training this semester, didn't you?"

He didn't answer. She pushed herself up and stood right in front of him. "Sam! _Snap out of it!_"

His eyes were vacant. He lifted his right hand and held it up for her to see. It was red and shiny with blood. "I stabbed him."

Oh. Now she understood. "Sam—"

"Don't talk to me."

"Don't tell me not to talk to you. You probably saved all our lives."

"I never wanted to get into this."

"I'm sorry—"

"He _is not breathing! Save him!"_

"Sam, please. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but you can save him, can't you? CPR training, remember? Last semester, in Health? I haven't had that class yet. You're the only one who knows how."

He didn't move. She took him by the shoulders and shook him as Lenalee had Allen. "_You can make up for it, Sam! _Help him!"

He turned and stared down at Allen's body. Then dropped down beside it. Cassia pulled Lenalee away to give him room.

"Get them!" A voice yelled from the corridor. "That one's bleeding!"

Who? Who was bleeding? Cassia and Lenalee looked at one another, newly alarmed. Cassia moved toward the doorway, peeking through the crumpled metal. And there was Kanda, a black spot in the white, running toward her. But then he stopped. Turned around. Cocked his head as though he was hearing something that wasn't right. Then walked back to the corner he had just turned and peeked around it.

"Kanda! What are you doing? We have to go!"

He raised a hand, waving her off. The infuriating asshole. She stepped through the doorway and started making her way toward him.

And then he was yelling. But not at her. At something around the corner.

"_Usagi_! What the hell are you _doing_?"

Lavi. She started running. There were sounds of scuffling, grunts up ahead. Lavi was fighting. He was the one bleeding. He was the one being captured. She had to help.

And then his voice. Screaming. Desperate. "_Go! _Don't help me! _RUN, Yuu!"_

She stopped in her tracks. Was he…letting himself be captured?

Kanda disappeared around the corner. She could still hear his voice, snarling, angry. "If you think I'm going to let you be a fucking martyr, you're wrong!"

She forced her feet to start moving again. There was a loud thump. A crash. Curses. A grunt. "Yuu, if you don't leave now, I'm going to _murder _you." His voice was getting softer.

She reached to corner and peeked around just in time to see him kicked in the back of the head. He slumped bonelessly to the ground, wrapped in so many pieces of white paper she could hardly discern him. Kanda stood in front of her like a statue, frozen in horror.

He lifted his head and locked eyes with Kanda. He didn't make a sound, but she could see what his lips formed. "Please," he said.

Kanda shook his head.

And then he turned around.

No. No, they couldn't actually be leaving him, could they? Leaving him to the mercy of these monsters? Not him. Not Lavi.

Kanda saw her and anger flitted across his features. "Kanda," she said, "we can't—"

"We can," he said gruffly. "And we will." He shoved her, sending her stumbling backward. But she didn't want to. She risked one more glance around the corner, pulling away from Kanda to do so.

"Is he still awake?" one of the men was asking. Another shrugged and mumbled something she couldn't hear. The first one kicked him again, this time in the temple. She saw his eye drop closed, like a curtain across a stage. Anger flared in her, and the flames of her Innocence jumped and twisted, eager. They wanted to fight. They wanted to kill every one of the men who had done that to Lavi. And then go on and kill everyone who had even _touched _Allen while he'd been here. It was their fault. Everything was. She was close, so close to running out and jumping the first person she saw. Killing them.

But then a hand closed around her wrist, tugging her backward mercilessly. Kanda.

"Kanda, we can't leave him! Look at what they did to Allen! They'll do that to him!"

He didn't answer, ruthlessly tugging her along. She tried to fight him, but he was much too strong. "Damn it, Kanda!"

"Shut up." His voice was quiet, utterly calm, but not composed enough to hide the anger that ran in a wild current underneath it. "He allowed himself to be captured so we could save that goddamn _baka_ moyashi, and that's what we're going to do. You can't fight them. You're too weak."

"I—"

"_Shut up."_

She shut up.

They burst out of the doorway again. Lenalee and Sam were supporting Allen between themselves. "He's breathing again," Sam informed them. "But not for long. We _really_ need to get him to a hospital."

Kanda gritted his teeth, grabbed Allen, and slung him over his shoulder in one smooth movement. Then he took off running.

"Wait," said Lenalee. "Where's Lavi? Why are you crying, Cassia?"

She just shook her head. "Let's go."

A look of understanding dawned on Lenalee's face. "But…we can't just…leave?"

She shook her head again. "Let's catch up to Kanda." Without looking back to see if they were following, without looking back at that crumpled door, she ran.

* * *

><p>Back and forth. Back and forth. Sitting still did nothing. He didn't think he would be able to meditate to save his life. He had to move. It gave his body the illusion that it was doing something, even though he wasn't. Even with the movement, his thoughts wouldn't settle. They raced around madly, and he couldn't focus, not on one thing.<p>

So he just kept pacing. The only thing he could think of clearly was that white really was an awful color. It was here, too, in this hallway, so like the other one. White walls, white ceiling, white doors, cracking white linoleum interspersed with a blue or green tile every so often, as if that was enough to save the hallway from its horrific institutionalized feel.

His entire body hurt. Not in the aching, sickening way it had hurt during his own days at Central, but with sharp, insistent pains in the places where he'd been bound, hit, or bashed into a wall. It shouldn't be like this. His hand kept straying to his chest, though he knew nothing was there and he wouldn't have been able to feel it if it were.

Back and forth. Back and forth. He passed Lenalee, going in the opposite direction. She was pacing, too, had been since people in more white had whisked the Moyashi down an even whiter hallway the second they'd arrived at this hospital. He himself couldn't care less about the Moyashi. The little idiot _always_ managed to pull through, no matter what he'd gotten himself into. Even when Kanda wanted him to die, he wouldn't. No, what was stuck in his mind was the Usagi's face, earnest, pleading. His lips, whispering "please".

The fucking-ass martyr. The Moyashi was enough of a martyr to deal with, always taking the blame and throwing himself in front of bullets meant for others. Martyrs were idiots who only slowed things down. Kanda hated them. So, of course, the Usagi _had_ to turn into one. He hadn't been one before. A nosy, loudmouthed idiot who wanted to be "friends", yes. A martyr? No. His top priority had always, ultimately, been self-preservation, a quality for which Kanda had allowed him a grudging sliver of respect.

But now? Now the _baka_ was all for the heroics. And Kanda was going to kill him for it. Happily. As soon as he got him back from Central in one piece.

He would. He would do it. Even if half his mind didn't want to go gallivanting off to save the rabbit, his body would make him. His mind wouldn't rest until then.

Cassia was sitting next to Sam, one arm around his shaking shoulders, the other cupping her head, fingers kneading the lines in her forehead. He looked closer at Sam. He was crying. Kanda _che_d softly. What a weakling. He'd killed someone, saved all their lives, and was _crying_ about it. The _baka_ needed to learn to get over it.

Cassia looked up as he passed again and said, "If you don't sit down now, I'm going to murder you. Lenalee too."

"_Che_. Make me." He kept pacing.

The next time he passed the chairs, she was gone.

* * *

><p>"So what are we going to do?"<p>

Lars looked up at her tiredly, eyes red-rimmed, just off the phone with his wife. "What do you mean?"

She sighed impatiently. "About Lavi. How are we going to get him out?"

He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "Cassia, to be frank, I don't know—"

"What," she interrupted. "You don't know if we can try and get him? We'll just leave him there for awhile? Of course, I'm sure he's having such a _nice_ time, we wouldn't want to cut it short, now would we?"

"Cassia, for the love of God, don't be so sarcastic. I'll do everything I can, but I honestly don't know how much that will do for him."

"So we went all-out for Allen, but now that Lavi's the one trapped there we'll just _try_?"

"You don't fully understand the picture, sweetheart. Allen's history—if we're right—if everyone's right—he's the only one with the slimmest chance of defeating the Noah this time around. It's always been that way. Central detained him because they were worried about the 14th—that's another story for another time—but even they know how important he is. I honestly don't believe they would have let him die, though there's no question he's better off with us than with them."

"Yeah, and they're going to do the exact same to Lavi. It's not a matter of whether or not he's going to change the tide of this war, Lars, it's the fact that they're going to torture him. Kill him, maybe, if he's not as important to them as Allen was. We can't just abandon him there."

He continued rubbing his forehead. He sounded exhausted, utterly defeated, and she briefly considered if there was anyone else—anyone else who would help and support them the way he had. Anyone else on their side. Or was this it? It already seemed a losing battle against the Noah. Now it seemed a losing battle against Central—the organization that was supposed to be on their side in the first place.

"As I said, Cassia," Lars reiterated. "I'll do everything I can. You know I will." He heaved himself up off the chair he was sitting on. "And if you've been paying attention to Kanda, you should be able to see that he'll do even more. Funny," he muttered, more to himself now. "The records never said anything about those two being close…" He moved off down the hallway, exhaustion showing in every movement. Cassia dropped down into his vacated seat.

Yes, Lars would do all he could. Ask questions and drop names and bribes to get information and maybe get Lavi out. And she had seen in Kanda's rapid pacing his utter conviction. He would do more—and, with their luck, get himself captured in the process. But what made her angry—angry and so very sad—was the knowledge, deep down, that none of that would help. They had been lucky with Allen. It had been too easy. Central had either let them take Allen or made major mistakes. She knew they wouldn't make those same mistakes again. Lavi was gone; either for good or until Central decided they'd gotten enough from him.

She didn't understand why she cared so much. She barely knew the guy. He obviously didn't want to be known. And yet, she felt a wrenching in her heart as though she'd lost a good friend.

She leaned against the dingy hospital wall and cried.

* * *

><p>Everything was white, which made him uncomfortable. He didn't like white. He couldn't think why. But it was alright, because it was misty; misty, odd, and peaceful. He wasn't quite sure if he existed. There was nothing but the mist—grey at times, white at others. He liked the grey better. He felt at once part of the mist and entirely separated from it.<p>

He wasn't sure how he knew he was a "he". He was, though, undeniably. Whether he existed or not.

He rather liked the mist, despite its disconcerting whiteness. It was peaceful. He couldn't feel, which was good. If he couldn't feel, he couldn't hurt. He knew that it would be better if things stayed that way. He couldn't remember—or even think, really. When they came, thoughts drifted slowly through, and when they were gone, they were gone. He didn't particularly feel like dwelling on any of them, anyway.

He was comfortable. Peaceful. He wished he could stay like this forever. But he couldn't. He could feel himself becoming more solid, more real. The mist was dissipating, solidifying, solidifying into a body standing beside him. Tall, but with an oddly chubby belly and an weird looking hat. He couldn't see the man's face, no matter how hard he tried to turn his barely-there body.

The man seemed to be speaking, but he couldn't hear what he was saying, just an indistinct mumble, shadows of words.

He wanted to hear this man speak.

He knew him…

_Why…_

He wanted to speak, wanted to reach out and touch him, so unknown and so familiar at the same time. He wanted to understand.

"Please," he said, surprising himself. The words echoed hollowly inside his head—he had a head. So he was real.

The man turned toward him, and he could see the shadowed suggestion of a smile, tender and loving. A smile like no one else had ever given him…

_Mana…_

Who?

"I'm proud," the man was saying, still muffled, as though the words were floating on the wind. "So proud…of you…Al—"

"Who?" He asked. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He liked the mist better. He understood the mist. He didn't understand things now.

"_Allen._" A hand came up to caress his cheek and he felt it, like a breath of warm air. "_Keep walking_."

Allen. Him. Mana. Allen.

_Allen_.

His name. He had a name.

And that was Mana, Mana…leaving again, dissipating back into the mist. He didn't want him to leave. _Stay. Oh, God, stay. Please._ He reached for him, but his hand—he had hands—broke up the mist further, and he was gone.

_No. Please come back._

He was gone. He felt a tear run down his cheek—he had cheeks, he had a face, he was _real_—

But the mist was doing it again. Solidifying. Was Mana coming back?

No. It was different this time. This man was tall and lanky, facing him. He could see his face. It was handsome, and very young, but sad. Tears were seeping from his eyes. The man reached out as though to touch him, but he felt nothing. He tried to step closer, but his feet wouldn't move him.

"I'm sorry," said the man. "I couldn't come back. I tried. I'm so sorry, Allen."

Why was everything so confusing? Why was the mist fading? He wanted it to stay. He wanted it to stay and block out everything—this man, his own body, the pain that was coming back to him in prickling jolts.

One part of the wish was coming true. The man was fading. But that was only because everything else was coming back.

"I'm sorry…I'll be back, I promise. I'll make them pay for what they did to you…"

And he was gone, dissipated away with the rest of the comforting mist. And now everything was black, which was better than the white had been, but also worse. Because he could feel now. And thoughts were coming. Thoughts he wanted to stay away.

He felt something below and around him, soft and warm. Comfortable. Someone was holding his hand, a soft pressure on his stinging skin. He thought about the hard, painful table that he'd been lying on for the last—who knew how long?—and almost wept with relief. Was he really gone from there?

He heard sounds—an annoying beeping, a softer whooshing, subdued voices, the sniffle of someone close by. Someone was crying? Who? Was it the same person holding his hand?

He felt, oddly, as though a piece of him was missing. He didn't know why, or from what part of him. He felt incomplete. He felt broken.

His entire body hurt, in a dull, insistent sort of way. He recognized the heavy, slow feeling of painkillers, though he couldn't think from where. His head hurt the worst, but so did his chest and arms and left ankle and right knee…

_A shadowy shape, looming above him like something out of a nightmare, and a knife, a knife cutting him, and he didn't know why, couldn't understand what he was being punished for when he hadn't done anything, when he couldn't even remember his own name…_

He screamed. He didn't want that to happen again.

_Laughter…why were they always laughing? Was there anything funny?_

"Allen?"

_Allen Walker…_

His eyes flew open, and he was staring at a white ceiling—more white—and breathing as though he'd been drowning. There was a face above him, different from the ones that had been there before. Kind, worried, with deep dark eyes and long black hair. Lips forming that word—_Allen._

He knew that face.

She would be able to tell him…

He raised his arm—a tremendous effort that left him panting and sent jolts of pure fire through his nerves—and grasped a bit of her sleeve.

"What…wha's m' name?"

"Your name?" Her voice…her voice was like balm, soothing him. He nodded, grateful that she'd understood his slurred words. Why couldn't he form them correctly?

"Allen."

_Allen._ What the men in his dreams called him. It seemed right. It seemed like what he had been called when he was happy. There were other names, floating around, but they weren't as good. He didn't want to think about what had happened when he was called by those names. So he let them float and grasped onto _Allen_ as his own.

"Allen," the girl was speaking. With effort, he pulled up his eyelids to look at her. "How…how do you feel?"

He tried to open his mouth to answer, but all that came out was a weak, pathetic sort of grunt. The girl's face seemed to crumple, and a tear leaked out one of her eyes, trailing down her cheek to fall on his hand. She smoothed the blanket covering his chest and smiled tremulously at him. "Don't worry. Don't talk. I'll call a nurse, alright? She'll make you feel better. I'm just glad you're awake."

He wanted to feel better. He wanted to fall back asleep and he didn't want to remember anything, because he had a feeling that remembrance would only bring more pain, and he didn't want to hurt anymore. But there was something else. One more thing he needed to say.

_He knew this girl. He knew her black hair, her kind eyes, her beautiful face. He knew her._

He managed to twitch his fingers so he was once more holding the edge of her sleeve. He tugged slightly—ever so slightly, given he could barely make his arm twitch—and she leaned down closer, a question in her eyes.

"Lenalee," he whispered. And then everything was spiraling away, but he caught the edge of her smile, and then he let it all go.

* * *

><p>"In political news today, we go across the ocean to America, where incumbent Mark Evanston, hailing from Seattle, is pulling far ahead <em>yet again<em> in presidential polls across the country. After falling back in the polls following suspicious circumstances occurring at a convention speech, he's back, seemingly as strong and unflappable as ever. We go to our political analyst, Andy Granges, to discuss this turnaround. Andy?"

It was morning. It was too early. The hospital coffee was no good. The BBC was blaring American politics, too loud, too insistent. She wanted to mute it, but she knew it would annoy the others in the room who were hanging on to every word.

"Well, we've discussed Evanston in depth before, but I'd just like to reiterate here how _rare_ this is—in fact, it can be seen as the first time this type of thing has happened, not only in America but in most democratic countries. Mark Evanston is a man with absolutely no political experience. He certainly has _business_ experience, as the owner and CEO of N.O.A.H. computers, and that can be seen as the same thing. He's been a force in the local government of his hometown, Seattle, but in terms of _national_ American government, he has no experience. And yet, he's sweeping the polls."

She wished they'd shut up about Mark Evanston. Or rather, the Millennium Earl. She wanted to stand up and scream out the truth to the world of what he was, of what _N.O.A.H. _really was. But she couldn't. She had to remain silent.

"What seems to be the key to Evanston's success is his groundbreaking _mixing_ of the country's Republican and Democratic running platforms—he's got the clean energy and the health care for the Democrats, he's got the tax cuts and the big business appeal for the Republicans, and he's got economic recovery and job creating for everyone. What he doesn't have is a set plan for how he's planning to _achieve_ this, but he assures everyone that he has plans and strategies."

"I'll bet he does," she muttered under her breath, standing and stomping away from the television to throw her undrinkable coffee in the trash. Why was a hospital in London showing the BBC with American politics, anyway? Why wasn't it showing the BBC with the calmer, less complicated politics of England?

It had been a week. A week since they'd broken into Central. A week since Lavi had been captured. A week during which Allen hadn't woken—not once. And a week in which she hadn't felt his Innocence or his mind tickling at her own. It was maddening, this waiting, this feeling of being in limbo.

Lenalee had left the hospital all of twice, insisting on staying by Allen's side at all times. Cassia had come to take over the vigil from Lars, who had stayed overnight. He was running himself ragged to help them out, worrying about Allen, worrying about her, worrying about Lenalee, worrying about Sam, who hadn't spoken more than twenty words since he'd killed the Crow man, worried about Kanda, who had taken to wandering the streets at night, most likely to stand, frustrated, in front of the suddenly high-security doorways of Central, worried about Lavi, locked behind those doors somewhere. The rest of the world was getting ready for Christmas; the lights were hanging, the trees decorated, the department stores, when she walked by them on the way to the hospital, were full of people whose biggest worry was what they would buy for the brother they didn't like. She wished she could feel the same cheer. She wished she was home, in Englemann City, with her mother and her father, before, before everything had fallen to pieces.

She walked slowly down the hallway towards Allen's room, readying herself to encounter his pale, lifeless face and the bandages that covered every inch of his skin.

The door burst open in her face and Lenalee was in front of her, eyes wild, panting, tears running down her cheeks.

"Oh my God," said Cassia. "What happened? Is Allen—"

She shook her head. "No—no, he woke up! Cassia, he woke up!"

She let out the gasp of air that she'd inhaled in her fear and pushed past her to look at the bed. His color was better, that was true. And he was in a different position than he'd been in for the last week—more _splayed_, as though he'd shifted himself. But his eyes were closed and he was limp—definitely not awake.

"Lenalee—"

"No, no, not now. He was. For a minute or so. He asked me what his name was. And then—Cassia, he _remembered_ me. And when he said my name…I remembered. I remembered everything. Oh, God…Cassia—Lavi! We have to find him! You have no idea—no idea what he's gone through in the hands of enemies before. We have to get to him."

"No, I know. We have to. We will…Lars'll figure out something. But—he's asleep now…"

"I know. He passed out again after he said my name. I called a nurse, but…oh."

A nurse was pushing past her to stand by the bed. "What seems to be the problem?" she asked kindly as she bustled about, taking his temperature and blood pressure and all the other things nurses like to take.

"He—he woke up," Lenalee explained. The nurse stopped what she was doing and peered at her as though she didn't quite believe what she was saying. "Did he, dear?"

"Yes! I swear! He woke up long enough to say my name, and then he fell back asleep."

"Hmm…" The nurse turned back to Allen. "He recognized you, that's a good sign." She took his temperature again. "It's slightly higher than the last time I checked. Probably from the exertion of speaking and moving—it looks like he moved, and that alone is impressive for a person who just woke up after a week-long coma."

She moved to his IV and injected something into it. "I'll give him some more painkillers, for when he wakes up again. If he did, he will again soon."

"Thank you," Lenalee said softly, moving to Allen's side to take his hand again. Sighing, Cassia moved to the other side of the bed and slumped down in the hard chair, pulling out her latest book, _Jane Eyre_. It seemed too much of an effort to open it, though, so she just sat there staring dumbly at its cover.

"You look so tired. Did you drink any coffee?" Lenalee asked.

"Ha—you're one to talk about being tired. No, I didn't. The coffee here's undrinkable, you should know that."

"No, I meant at Lars's. Before you left."

"There wasn't any made. I was too tired to do it myself."

"_Sam_ didn't have any coffee made?" Even in her short experience with him, Lenalee knew all about Sam's incurable coffee addiction.

Realizing something, Cassia sat up straight. "No. Sam _didn't_ have any coffee made. And you know what, I haven't seen him drink any at all since he killed that man. Maybe if I get some into him, he'll snap out of it."

"He killed someone, Cassia." Said Lenalee softly. "I don't think he's just going to 'snap out of it.'"

She slumped back. "You're right. I know you're right. I only want him to snap out of it because I feel like it's all my fault. It _is_ all my fault. I'm the one who dragged him into this. He'd be sitting at home, innocent as ever, if it weren't for me."

"Well," said Lenalee carefully, playing with Allen's fingers in her own. "It is partly your fault. You were the one who brought him into this. But I wouldn't say it's all your fault. He's the one who insisted on coming along, even when I heard you telling him how dangerous it might be. And by killing that man he saved us all. He'll realize that. He'll come around. Maybe not get over it, but come to terms with it."

She sighed. "I hope so. That doesn't stop my guilt." They were both silent for a moment, Lenalee staring down at Allen, Cassia staring out the door at the bustle in the hallway. Then Lenalee spoke.

"I remembered everything, you know, when he said my name. It was like a switch flipped in my head. I think he was the one meant to help me remember, like Lavi was for Kanda-kun. So when he wasn't there to do it, I was lost. But I'm not anymore." She smiled. "I _remember_. I remember Lavi and Kanda-kun and everyone else who…isn't here." She swallowed and reached over to stroke the hair out of Allen's eyes. When she spoke again her voice was soft and full of tears.

"I had a brother, you know. Komui. He was—he took care of me when our parents died. And when I was taken by the Order because I was an accommodator, he didn't rest until he had a position with them that allowed him to stay by my side. He used to…" she laughed. "He used to have these massive fits, worrying about me getting married, worrying about who I _would_ marry. No one was good enough for him. I think he liked Allen, though…"

Cassia nearly jumped out of her chair. "Wait—you and Allen—"

"No!" Lenalee laughed and squeezed Allen's hand tighter in her own. "Komui I liked him is all. _Everyone_ knew I liked him except for the idiot himself."

Cassia laughed too, because even she saw it, and she barely knew either of them.

"I suppose he died in the battle," Lenalee said. "My brother, I mean. And even if he didn't die then, it's a hundred years later. He's gone." And then her face crumpled and she leaned forward, crying over Allen's hand. "I never got to say goodbye. I think I was annoyed with him the last time I spoke with him. He was being overprotective. Only because he cared. Only ever because he cared. He had a right to be protective that time. Look at what happened."

She fell silent, face still hidden by her hair. Slowly, Cassia reached over and rested her hand on Lenalee's, which was resting on Allen's. "I'm sorry," she said.

Lenalee looked up and gave her a tremulous smile. "So am I."

Suddenly there was a jolt below them and Allen's eyes flew open as he jerked, trying to force his body to sit up. "Allen!" Lenalee cried. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down into the bed, shushing him gently.

"Lenalee," he whispered. Then his eyes flicked to Cassia and they grew wide. He tried to move towards her, but Lenalee was holding him down, and she doubted he would have been able to move even if she wasn't. "You…" he whispered.

"What is it?" she asked, flummoxed by his distress.

"I…saw you…in m'dreams…"

"Oh…right. That. We…well, we have sort of a…erm…_connection_. I guess. Our Innocence is the same, except they're different…but I…yeah, I talked to you while you were…there."

"I 'member…you. You're th'one who has't"

"Has it? Has what?"

"M'Inno…cence. Th'rest of it." He reached his arm out from beneath the covers and flopped it onto the bed under her eyes. Most of the arm was black, smooth darkened skin. An emerald cross was embedded in his hand, but the skin around the cross was pale, normal.

"That's not right," said Lenalee shakily. "His hand's supposed to be dark, too. It's…well, it's weird—looking. Spindly, sort of. But it's…not now. I didn't notice before."

"It's yours now…" Allen whispered, then closed his eyes again.

A sting on her wrist, and then her Innocence was activated, the flames incandescent and flickering. They seemed to be attracted to Allen, to Allen's arm, and as they covered it his hand turned black and spindly, the way Lenalee had described it.

She fought with her Innocence, deactivated it, and Allen's arm reverted back to its pale, normal appearance. The green stones glimmered dully, dead-looking in the harsh white light.

"Lenalee," said Cassia slowly, thinking out loud. "In your experiences…in the history of the Order…has anyone's Innocence ever been _fragmented_ before?"

She shook her head slowly. "I've no clue. That's a question to ask Lavi. But…we can't, I guess. It's possible. It would…explain things."

"Like what."

She sighed. "When I…died, the Innocence was dying, too. I could feel it. It was fading. It hurt horribly, it hurt all of us horribly. This is something to confirm with Lavi, but I believe…I would _think_ that the Innocence was destroyed in that battle. Of course, we saw those people who looked like exorcists at Central, but…the fact that you have Innocence, and Lavi thought it was all gone…it would make sense."

"They said that there was some problem when they brought Allen back. There was a flaw. They had to synchronize you back with your salvaged Innocence…that was one of the most dangerous parts of the process. If something went wrong with Allen…if his Innocence was shattered, scattered, and not all of it was returned to him…what if _my _Innocence is…"

"His," Lenalee finished, staring down at Allen's powerless hand. "His hand was always his biggest asset offensively in a battle. Without it, he'll be less able. And _you_," she turned to Cassia, eyes flashing, "will have to take that place."

She was feeling panicked. "No. I can't do that. We've got to get this off me, Lenalee. We've got to get his Innocence back to him. He's the only one…"

Allen's eyes opened again and he stared at her steadily. He spoke slowly, but clearly, as though it was taking a lot of effort to form the words. "I…want it back. I will do anything to have it. It…is like there is a piece of me missing…it hurts. But…I trust you. You can take care of it and…fight with it until it finds its way back to me. It has to make that decision…Crown Clown will not be told…what to do. Or forced to…do anything it doesn't want to." He smiled softly up at her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I'd give it back to you in a second if I could."

"Know," he said, eyes drifting closed again. "B'take care of't…please…want ta know that…all of me is…safe."

They waited for a moment to see if he would speak again, but he was silent, asleep once more. Cassia sighed and touched his hand gently. "I will, I promise." Her hand drifted to her own wrist, feeling the strands of the thin bracelet. "I'll keep all of you safe."

* * *

><p><strong>Pulling a Hoshino and letting Lavi rot for a little while, just for the hell of it.<strong>

**YEAH I KNOW I SAID I'D UPDATE IN TWO WEEKS BUT THEN I DIDN'T. Also, I won't update for AT LEAST three weeks because I am going to be working on a conservation crew in the Black Hills for the next three weeks. No internet, no phones, no nothing, my friends. Our main job is going to be bison-proofing trail signs. No, I am not joking. The reason this chapter sucks at the end is because I'm leaving tomorrow and I wanted to get it done before then.**

**I will write while I'm gone, and if I have lots of reviews when I get back I will make haste to type it up and post it. If I don't have reviews, I will have no motivation. So review.**

**See you in three weeks!**


End file.
